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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

©fiapl? 2--] Gapyrirjfjl 1|o. 

Shelf uL.5J.A- Or 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




















The Runaway Slave tn the Garret. 




Garret Grain 

OR 

The House Blessed. 


BY 


j 


MRS. FRANK LEE. 

■'W . • ' . v* 

Author of “ Knives and Forks " and “ Redmond of the Seventh'' 



BOSTON AND CHICAGO 

(■Tongrcgattonal jSun&ags&rijool anti ^ublisfjing £oaetg 


Y'Z-I 

, V_5 \ ^ ^ 


Copyright, 1894, 


By Congregational, Sunday-School and Publishing Society 


“Qlbe greatest of all ts Cf)arttp” 

TO ONE WHOSE QUIET LIFE HAS EVER BEEN A TRUE 
EXAMPLE OF THIS GREATEST WORD, 

. TO 

ELDER CHARLES WATT, 

OF CENTRAL COLLEGE, OHIO, 


THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 





















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Children Who Shared It. —From 

Baxter Street 9 

II. Seven Years After. — From Fifth 

Avenue 22 

III. Old Friends and New 27 

IY. The Story of the Garret 39 

Y. In the Garret 51 

VI. Weeds Growing. — Seed Sowing ... 61 

VII. In the Garden 74 

VIII. “Then Appeared the Tares Also” . . 87 

IX. “Some Fell among Thorns” .... 95 

X. Trudie’s Last Poem 107 

XI. “Am I My Brother’s Keeper?” . . .118 

XII. “The Seed is the Word” 130 

XIII. Sowing the Grain in Bylands .... 142 

XIV. A Strange Harvest 152 

XV. Bearing Precious Seed 162 

XVI. The Barriers Down 174 

XVII. Out from the House Blessed .... 184 

XVIII. Sown by the Wayside 196 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX. First Sheaves op the Harvest . . .208 

XX. In the Valley of the Shadow . . . 219 

XXI. Joy after Sorrow 231 

XXII. Nothing but Leaves 241 

XXIII. Riches have Wings 252 

XXIV. More of the Harvest 266 

XXV. “A Sea-change” 276 

XXVI. “No Death for a Word Once Spoken” 2S8 

XXVII. Hosea Makes an Atonement 303 

XXVIII. Ben Finds “The Place” 313 

XXIX. The Garret’s Final Gift 324 


GARRET GRAIN 


CHAPTER I. 

THE CHILDREN WHO SHARED IT. FROM BAXTER STREET. 

S this Baxter Street?” 



The young street Arab stopped his whistling to 
stare at the questioner. He had a special toughness of 
reputation even among his tough little cronies. In his 
active scrap of mind the answer was already formed : 
“ When did yer come to taown, hayseed, hey?” He 
surprised himself by saying instead, — 

“ Yes, it are.” 

“ Can you tell me where to find No. 910?” 

The miserable tenements on either side seemed to 
be losing every vestige of self-respect — like their 
wretched inmates. Even their numbers were gone. 
The street was dirty, the alleyways foul smelling. 
Doors hung by a single hinge ; windowpanes were 
eked out by rags, paper, and old hats. The gamin, 
with that instinctive knowledge which seems part of 
the inheritance of his kind, looked at the dwellings 
and back at the tall gentleman, whose own eyes rested 
sadly on these wrecks of homes. 


10 


GARRET GRAIN . 


“Nine hundred ten? That’s where Foster was 
killed when the cops tried to nab him. I ’ll show 
yer.” 

“Thank you.” 

As they walked on the child added proudly : “I see 
’em take him off.” 

“Did you?” 

“ You bet. They mashed his head awful, he fit so. 
The blood dripped all the way downstairs and on the 
stuns. Some of ’t ’s there yit.” 

“ Poor fellow ! poor fellow ! ” 

Ben, the Arab, stared. It seemed somehow as if 
one of those “poor fellows” was meant for him — 
though why puzzled him not a little. 

He measured the stranger from head to heel with a 
comprehensive look. “ I ’ll bet,” he remarked, “ that 
you ’re from the country.” 

“Right,” said the gentleman, smiling. “Right, 
thank God ! ” 

He said that last queerly too, as if he did not mean 
to say it out loud. There was such a pleasant bright- 
ness in his face that the boy in his intent watch of it 
stepped off into the gutter several times. 

“D’ye live fur off ? ” 

“ Nearly a thousand miles.” 

“ Golly ! ” said Ben, and whistled sharp and shrill 
like a steam engine. He looked to see the stranger 


THE CHILDREN WHO SHARED IT. 11 


jump, but he appeared as undisturbed as if steam 
whistles blew off under his ears regularly. 

“ I wish you could see my home in about two 
weeks,” he said, laying his hand on the ragged 
shoulder with infinite tenderness. “ Grass all green 
under your feet ; the orchard, one great garden, pink 
and white ; the bees humming, the birds singing ; the 
water so clear you can see the fish swimming in it ; the 
blue sky overhead — and God over all. And what 
good times you could have now ill the garret ! My, 
my ! I wish ” — 

He pressed the ragged shoulder with a sigh and 
released it. 

“ Golly ! ” said Ben again ; but this time he did not 
whistle . ‘ 4 Here ’s 910.” 

Thank you,” said the gentleman, holding the grimy 
hand a moment. “ Thank you very much.” 

He had left a dime in the small paw, but for a won- 
der that was not what Ben thought about as he sat on 
the curb, his keen eyes watching the door through which 
his companion disappeared. 

Meantime the gentleman stood in the dark passage, 
debating whether he should mount the shaky stairs or 
knock at the nearest door, whence came the sound of 
scolding and curses in a woman’s voice. He ventured 
at last to knock , and had to repeat the action pretty 
vigorously before the voice screamed : — 


12 


GAR BET GRAIN. 


“Come in, and be to ye ! Putting on scallops, 

ain’t ye?” 

But when the gentleman opened the door and stood 
on the threshold, hat in hand, the virago said in quite 
a different tone : “ Oh, I thought it was some o’ them 
botherin’ neighbors.” 

“ Can you tell me,” asked the visitor, “ anything 
about the children of a man named Foster, who was 
killed here week before last? ” 

“Foster’s kids? Some o’ their rich relations took 
’em off. There ’s a woman on the third floor back that 
looked after ’em a bit. Likely she knows.” 

The visitor thanked her, and felt his way cautiously 
up the two flights of creaking stairs. It was quieter 
on the third floor ; the murder had caused a temporary 
hegira of tenants. The room into which he looked as 
a second woman opened its door was comparatively 
clean, the woman herself an improvement on the 
other. Not a wholesome creature to look at, though. 
How should she be with such surroundings as these? 

“Foster’s children? Their aunt or some relation 
came and took them off. No, I don’t know where she 
lives. She was dreadful afraid her name ’u’d get in 
the papers.” 

A look of relief crossed the gentleman’s face. “ I 
think I know who it was, though not where she lives. 
There are but two of the children, I believe.” 


THE CHILDBEN WHO SHABED IT. 13 


u That ’s all. He ’d been pretty careful of ’em, con- 
sidering. The woman that come here with ’em had 
’em after his wife died ; quite a decent body she was. 
She died six weeks ago or more, and Foster hired me 
to tend to ’em. He paid his debts, I ’ll say that for 
him, if he did do it with other folks’ money. If he ’d 
let drink alone, he was smart enough to give the cops 
the slip right along. He was mighty ugly and quarrel- 
some in the drink — it floored him at last.” 

“ It has floored a good many.” 

“You’re right, it has. My man only takes a sup 
now and then, but there ’s lots that don’t know when 
to stop.” 

She answered civilly a few more questions concern- 
ing the dead man, and the questioner made his way to 
the street. As he reached it he drew a long breath 
and murmured : “ What a horrible place ! ” 

“ It ’s took some o’ the shine out ’n his face,” thought 
his former guide. Aloud he said : “ That ain’t bad. 
Each lot ’s got a room to itself. Down to our place 
there ’s rooms with a fam’ly in each corner and one in 
the middle. Want to go some’ers else? ” as the gentle- 
man looked up and down the street and hesitated. 

“ Yes ; but I shall have to see a directory first. Is 
there a drug store near here ? ” 

“ Two blocks down, turn to yer left, next corner — 


I ’ll show yer.” 


14 


GABBET GBAIN. 


Again they started off together ; again the child 
watched the kindly face. 

“ I s’pose it costs a lot to go where you live,” he 
suggested. 

u Not so very much. I wish you and ten thousand 
like you could be picked up bodily and set down in the 
country round about where there is room to breathe 
and grow, out of this cramped, dirty, miserable city.” 

It was hardly to the child that he spoke. 

“Oh, come now, the city ain’t so bad,” said Ben, 
shaking his frowzled head. “Lots goin’ on all the 
time. Wait till you get up town where all the big 
bugs live — big houses and wide streets. My, oh ! 
and the park. There ’s trees up there, mister, and 
grass — lots of it.” 

“But you and a hundred thousand more,” said the 
gentleman, looking sorrowfully down at him, “have 
to live down here.” 

“That’s so,” rejoined Ben, transferring his gaze 
to his bare toes. “Queer, ain’t it? Here’s the 
store.” 

And presently the gentleman said a final good-by, a 
very kindly one, and boarded a northbound car. 

Very different indeed the second street down which 
he walked — lined either side by solid walls of brick 
or stone ; walls pierced at regular intervals by doors 
and windows. To the observer they seemed less like 


THE CHILDREN WHO SHARED IT. 15 

homes than barriers raised between the fortunate and 
unfortunate. 

“ I would not,” he said to himself, ringing the bell 
of one of the larger houses exactly like six others in 
the same row, “ take the city as a gift, if I had to live 
in it ; ” and he was not a man given to extravagant 
statements. 

He was admitted by a neat maid and conducted 
through a handsome hall past what was evidently an 
apartment of state to a smaller room beyond. The 
house was very still ; the maid spoke almost under her 
breath as she asked, “Your name, please?” and she 
moved as if shod with silence. 

The stranger leaned back in his seat with a sigh 
more of mental weariness than of physical fatigue. 
A sound of fluttering leaves drew his attention to 
one of the windows where two children sat on the 
floor partly concealed by the curtains and with a 
storybook between them. Their eyes were fixed 
upon the gentleman. The younger was a little girl, 
perhaps five, with a frightened, quivering smile ; 
the boy was some three years older and his face 
was very grave. 

The stranger crossed the room towards them. The 
boy sprang up and stood in front of his sister, who 
shrank quickly behind him. 

“ If you ’ll let us keep together,” said the little 


16 


GAB RET GRAIN. 


fellow earnestly, “ Trudie won’t cry ; will you, Trudie? 
She ’s afraid.” 

“You shall indeed keep together, dear ones,” said 
the gentleman in a deep, tender voice. He lifted the 
little girl from the floor and at once she nestled against 
his breast while the boy, yielding to the touch of a 
loving arm, drew closer to his side. 

“And this is Allan! You don’t know me. Did 
mamma never tell you, Allan, about your Aunt 
Emily?” 

The child’s face, old beyond his years, turned 
towards the questioner. 

“Yes. Aunt Emily lived a long way off. Mother 
used to say we ’d go and see her some time ; but it must 
have been too far away — we never went.” 

“In a house with a garret,” half-whispered the* little 
girl. 

The boy smiled at her. His dark, almost sullen 
eyes were beautiful when he smiled. 

“ She means a letter mother used to read to us from 
Aunt Emily. She lived in a house that had a big 
garret ; it was an old house and the garret was full of 
queer old things, and children used to play in it. 
A garret is a room ’wav upstairs,” the boy explained, 
as if his listener might not quite understand. “ We 
lived way upstairs, but I don’t think it was a garret — , 
not like Aunt Emily’s. I never saw one.” 


THE CHILDREN WHO SHARED IT. 17 


“You shall,” said the gentleman, gently stroking 
his hair. 

“ People called Aunt Emily’s house some name. I 
don’t remember what ; but mother said it meant very 
happy. We used to coax mother to read us Aunt 
Emily’s letter till it was all wore out. It was like a 
story — better than a story, because it was all true. 
Aunt Emily wanted us to come ; but we never went.” 

He sighed softly — a pathetic breath. The lis- 
tener’s throat was so full that he had attempted twice 
to speak without success, when a lady entered the 
room. 

She was a tall, well-dressed person, a little past fifty, 
with a manner nervous and stately by turns. The 
gentleman rose and advanced to meet her, carrying 
the little girl in his strong left arm. 

“Your name is Wyatt,” she said, speaking nerv- 
ously. “My niece, Emily Strothers, married a — 
some one of that name, I believe.” 

Her guest bowed. “Charles Wyatt — myself. 
You will understand, Mrs. Taggart,” he glanced at 
the children, “ why I am here.” 

“Dear, dear!” sighed the lady, sinking into a 
chair. “ Did n’t Emily know anything about the con- 
dition Kuth and her family were in ? ” 

“We had not heard for more than a year,” the 
gentleman answered quietly; “ and before that very 


18 


GARRET GRAIN. 


infrequently. Ruth never referred to her domestic 
affairs. We suspected all was not right. How 
entirely wrong it was, and the fact of her death, we 
did not know until ” — he looked again expressively at 
the children — “ until now.” 

“ From the wretched papers, I suppose. I ex- 
pected every day that those dreadful reporters would 
drag us in, though I have n’t had any communication 
with her since she married. Mr. Taggart had his 
suspicions of Foster from the start.” 

“Madam, the children,” said Mr. Wyatt warningly. 

“ Oh, yes, I know ; but I have been so worked up 
over the whole wretched business. I did not know 
she was dead. I did get a queer ill-spelled, dirty - 
looking note from some miserable street down town 
saying that she was dead, and that the writer was 
dying ; and asking what was to be done with the 
children. Their aunt’s address, it said, was lost, and 
— oh ! I don ’t know what all ; I did n’t believe a 
word of it. I thought it just a dodge to get money. 
There are so many such dodges in the city, Mr. 
Wyatt. Still I had made up my mind that Mr. Tag- 
gart should get an officer and go there when suddenly 
the papers were all full of that man.” 

She- wiped her eyes with a beautifully fine handker- 
chief, and had recourse to her vinaigrette. 

“I went down then when the first noise of it was 


THE CHILDREN WHO SHARED IT. 19 


over,” rolling the handkerchief nervously into a ball. 
“I was fond of Ruth when she was a girl” — using 
the handkerchief — “ and such a state as I found those 
children in ! There was n’t a thing left ; I suppose 
the creature that pretended to take care of them stole 
everything. But I can’t keep them here. Mr. Tag- 
gart would n’t be willing, and my health is not good. 
I went yesterday to the Orphan Asylum to ” — 

She wept again. All her stateliness had disap- 
peared ; she was tearfully voluble. 

‘‘There is no question about their disposition, 
madam,” said her visitor promptly. “Their aunt’s 
home will be theirs of course. That is why I am 
here.” 

Such absolute relief as expressed itself in Mrs. 
Taggart’s faded face ! 

“Dear, dear! it is very generous of you, but of 
course the most proper thing to do, as Emily is their 
nearest relation. And you will not mind the addition 
to your family ? ” 

“ I am not a rich man, measured by city standards,” 
returned her guest, “ but I have over three hundred 
acres of land and a bouse that has sheltered many a 
homeless one before these. They will have plenty of 
room to grow in, and my little girl, about the age of 
this one, will rejoice to have playmates.” 

“ I hope you will never regret introducing them to 


20 


GABBET GBAIN. 


her,” said Mrs. Taggart, shaking her head mournfully. 
“ Ruth was a good girl, but,” in an aside, “ you know 
what their father was. There is no telling what the 
seeds of heredity may produce.” 

“We will try to crowd them out with seed of 
another sort.” Mr. Wyatt kissed the little girl and 
set her gently down. “ I do not expect to start back 
before the first of next week, but if they are incon- 
veniencing you, I will take the children away at once, 
thanking you in Emily’s name for your kindness to 
them.” 

“Indeed you will do nothing of the kind.” The 
burden of the children to be removed entirely and 
forever from her mind and conscience, she felt almost 
affectionately disposed towards the person who had 
relieved her. To be sure she had always ignored 
Emily and her farmer husband, but really Mr. Wyatt 
was not a person to be ashamed of. “I shall see 
that they are well fitted out ; that shall be my gift to 
poor Ruth’s offspring. And, Mr. Wyatt, pray make 
this your home while you remain in the city.” 

“ I will gratefully accept your hospitality for the 
children, Mrs. Taggart ; but as for myself I have 
promised to remain with my brother-in-law, Stephen 
Ellis.” 

“ Stephen Ellis ! the Ellis who is doing such won- 
derful things in Wall Street?” As the wonderful 


THE CHILDREN WHO SHARED IT. 21 


things were successful speculations, Mr. Wyatt rose 
several inches in Mrs. Taggart’s estimation. She 
actually followed him into the hall. The children 
also followed timidly, gazing after their new friend. 
“ I am sorry you cannot stay with us, Mr. Wyatt. I 
should like to have you meet Mr. Taggart.” 

“ I hope to do so when I call again. Good-day, 
Mrs. Taggart. Good-by, my little boy and girl.” 


CHAPTER II. 


SEVEN YEARS AFTER. FROM FIFTH AVENUE. 

S TEPHEN ELLIS, broker, to Charles Wyatt, 
farmer : — 

My dear Charley , — Don’t be frightened at the sight 
of this unfamiliar fist. I think of you sometimes, but 
the writing is a peg beyond me. 

I am a successful business man, Charley, and I am 
paying the frequent price of success — loss of faith 
in my fellow men. All gone or going fast; but there 
is one chap I do trust yet, and he, my old frere, is 
yourself. 

I suppose the memory of Alice will always hold us 
together. Had she lived I might not have turned into 
a mere money-grubber. But, pshaw! what’s the use? 
She ’s gone, and the best of me went with her. I ’m in 
the very thickest of the rush ; so busy that I have n’t even 
the time to look after her boy, who ’s like to go to the 
dogs if somebody does n’t do so pretty soon. 

You know my sisters had him part of the time, and 
they spoiled him. At home the servants spoil him, and 
I — have let him alone. I don’t think the lad is vicious, 
but there has been no rein on him, nor is there likely to 

22 


SEVEN YEABS AFTEB. 


23 


be. I can’t take the time — don’t know what to do if I 
could. 

I ’ve done one thing that is fairly sensible — kept his 
spending money scarce. Too many youngsters go to 
pieces with their hands full. He does n’t know what it 
is to be a rich man’s son that way. But he has been run- 
ning loose. Little as I ’ve seen of him lately, I ’ye seen 
several things that I know Alice wouldn’t like; and 
when, night before last, I happened to meet him and a 
chum of his helping home a third so tipsy that he could 
hardly walk — not one of them over sixteen — I knew 
something must be done, and quick too, if I wanted to 
save the boy — Alice’s boy and mine. 

And the very first thing I thought of, Charley, was the 
House Blessed. If I can get him under its roof and 
under your wing, I shall know him as safe as he can 
be on this earth. You’ve a houseful — your own and 
others. I know that; but can’t you find a place for 
Alice’s boy? Put him to sleep in the barn if necessary. 
Only let him play in the old garret and eat at your table ; 
I will make it worth your while, and Emily shall have 
all the extra help she needs. 

I want you take him and train him as if he were your 
own. Make him work outdoors or in; choose his school 
and his mates for him ; teach him the old Bible you cling 
to so closely yet and which I — more ’s the pity ! — have 
nearly forgotten. For the next four years I make him 
over to you, if you will take him, and for her sake I ask 
this favor of you. 


24 


GABBET GBAIN. 


Never mind his share in the place ; that has nothing to 
do with his bed and board at present. He may have to 
take to it for a living some time; who knows? It ’s up 
to-day and down to-morrow. 

That ’s all. Write soon to 

Yours truly, 

Ste. M. Ellis. 


Charles Wyatt to Stephen Ellis : — 

My dear Steve , — If we had but one room and slept on 
the floor, Alice’s boy should be welcome to a plank. If 
you really wish it, send him to me as soon as you please. 
He shall be like my own indeed. I will do for him the 
best I can. 

But, Steve, I must preach to you a little first. Will 
the business that fills your time so full make up to you 
for the companionship of your child? Now, in these 
formative years as he grows towards manhood, is surely 
your opportunity to establish that close confidence, that 
mutual knowledge of each other, that will make him a 
help and comfort to you when you must drop some of 
those engrossing cares into other hands. 

More: Only God knows how incapable I feel of guid- 
ing my children aright ; yet I would not dare trust them 
so wholly to others. God gave them to me — to him I 
am responsible, and to them. I must try to let them see 
in me, however faint, some reflection of their Father in 
heaven. Steve, my friend, are you not defrauding your 
boy? Will all the money you can leave him make up to 


SEVEN YEABS AFTEB. 


25 


Mm for Ms father? Believe me, there are heavier losses 
than business losses, even on this earth, and gains past 
money’s valuing. 

We are such old friends that I venture to speak plainly. 
Send me the boy if you wish. I shall regard him as a 
sacred trust. But be sure that in sending him you are 
doing the best for both. May God bless you, and help 
you to decide wisely. 

Affectionately yours, 

Charles Wyatt. 


Stephen Ellis to Charles Wyatt : — 

Dear Charley , — Since my last, Rodney has been very 
sick. There were a few days when it seemed as if he 
were leaving forever the father who was so willing to 
give Mm up for a time. I thought then that if he were 
spared I would never trust him out of my sight. But 
with his convalescence the old strain has hold of me 
again. The habit of years is not broken by the anxiety 
of a week. I know how it will be when he recovers; 
the old absorption on my part, the old lack of restraint 
on his. The best for him is to be with you. 

For myself, I know that after your training he will 
come back to me a dutiful son and a true man. I shall 
miss the happiness of closer confidence and affection, 
you think. I have missed it ! As I told you, we success- 
ful business men pay a heavy price for our success. 
Often it is these very affections and confidences. 
Frankly , Charley, — though you think the worse of me 


26 


GARRET GRAIN'. 


for the confession, — I would scarcely now know how tc 
appreciate them. 

I will send the boy as soon as he is able to travel. He 
will gain faster in the country air. Say to Emily that I 
know she will give him a true mother's care, and I am 
most grateful to her. As for you, — old friend, true 
friend, — may the lad grow like you. I ask nothing 
better for him than that. 

Ever yours, 


Ste. M. Ellis. 


CHAPTER III. 


OLD FRIENDS AND NEW, 


E you hurt, Hosy? No? Oh ! ha, ha, ha, ha! ” 



XjL “ Wait till your legs git as long as mine, 
youngster,” said Hosy, rising from the ground and 
shaking off the loose, fresh earth that clung to him ; 
“maybe they’ll tangle a heap worse. Quit your 
snickerin’, boy, or I ’ll roll you down hill.” 

“ You ’ll have to catch me first,” returned the lad, 
still laughing. Hosy’s involuntary somersault had 
been very funny. 

People called Hosea Bannister “Hosy” much 
oftener than they used his proper name, and he 
answered to either one with the same deliberation. 
His legs and arms were so long that his body looked 
proportionately small, and he was so awkward that 
his hands and feet seemed constantly interfering with 
each other. He was so slow of motion and generally 
queer that when he first came to the neighborhood 
the farmers, even though they needed help, looked 
askance at him, which was probably the reason, it 
was said, that Mr. Wyatt picked him up. 

He leaned on the plow handles shaking his head at 


27 


28 


GARRET GRAIN. 


the still laughing boy in pretended anger. A gentle- 
man, driving along the road which the field bordered 
upon, leaned out of his buggy. 

“Morning, boys! Well, Hosy, how are you and 
Mr. Wyatt making it by this time ? ” 

“Well, we ain’t come to fisticuffs yet,” answered 
Bannister. 

“ Fisticuffs with Charley Wyatt ! I guess not ! Is 
the Ellis boy coming? ” 

“ Next week.” 

“ Four of his own, two of his sister-in-law’s, and 
now this one. What ’ll he do with them all?” 

“Hang ’em up on pegs in a row,” suggested 
Hosea. 

“ Well, Charley Wyatt can’t carry the whole world 
on his shoulders, though he comes as near trying to 
as any man I ever saw. I suppose the Ellis boy pays 
his way, however. You won’t finish that field to-day, 
Hosy ; it is going to rain.” 

While the men talked, Allan, grown suddenly sober, 
had returned to his work. As Mr. Derwent drove on, 
striking sharply at the roots of some intrusive black- 
berries he said : — 

“ I wonder that a fellow living in a handsome 
house in the city all his life wants to come out 
here.” 

“ Reckon he don’t,” said Hosea with a grin. 


OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 


29 


“ I should think his father would have sent him to 
some of his other rich relations.” 

/ 

“Reckon they didn’t want to be bothered. ’Most 
through, Allan?” 

“ All through,” said Allan, tossing an armful of 
briers on a brush pile near by. “ I ’ll set fire to these 
right away.” 

“ Guess you won’t ; it’s going to rain,” said Hosea, 
winking gravely up at the gray sky. “Gee, Polly.” 

The keen, bright plowpoint buried itself deep, 
turning the sod over in long brown rolls. After a 
moment’s survey of the clouds, Allan threw his mat- 
tock over his shoulder and went thoughtfully down 
the hillside. 

Never in the seven happy years of his life here 
had he dreaded anything as he dreaded the coming of 
Mr. Wyatt’s nephew. The shadow of his father’s 
miserable life and death lay heavily on the boy just 
now ; he feared this other boy might know of it. 

No one in his present little world did know, save 
his uncle and aunt ; and he had been so happy ! 
Besides, Rodney Ellis was a rich man’s son ; as his 
mother’s heir he owned a fourth part of this very 
homestead. Allan and his sister were entirely de- 
pendent on their uncle’s bounty. He had not thought 
of it before Mr. Derwent’s speech, “ The other boy 
pays his way.” That he should never forget. 


30 


GARRET GRAIN , . 


When Allan thought of Rodney he imagined him 
like Fred White, whose father, Judge White, lived in 
the largest house in their neighboring town. Fred 
was a well-dressed, sallow-faced, conceited lad, who 
felt himself greatly superior to the farmers’ sons. 
Yet, no matter what Rodney might be, he was Uncle 
Charley’s own nephew; Uncle Charley would like him 
best of course. Allan sighed. 

Reaching the foot of the hill, he passed through 
a barnyard flanked on either side by a large barn, 
a grain crib, cattle sheds, and other outbuildings. 
Entering the toolhouse to put away his mattock he 
found Mr. Wyatt there mending a rake. 

He stood silently a moment by his uncle’s side. 
“Well, my boy,” said the latter cheerily, “what 
is it?” 

The lad spoke with some hesitation. “I’ve been 
thinking, uncle, that now Rodney ’s coming and 
you ’ve got such a houseful Trudie and I would better 
go somewhere else.” 

Where — poor boy! — he did not know. Who else 

would take the felon’s children? All Allan thought 

© 

of at that moment was that they might be a burden 
to the man he loved better than the world beside. 

“ The house will have to shrink a good deal before 
it squeezes you and Trudie out. Allan, do you want 
to go? ” 


OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 


31 


“ No, sir, indeed not ! ” The weight that had lain 
on Allan’s heart seemed to rise to his throat and 
choke him. “But there are so many, and Rodney is 
your own nephew.” 

“ So are you * — and more ; you are like my own 
boy. Why, I count on you, Allan, to help Rodney. 
His mother died when he was only four years old — 
he ’s grown up pretty much as he pleased. Uncontrol, 
idleness, bad company — bad seed. Allan, we must 
root them out with garret grain.” 

Cheered to his very soul by the smile that seemed 
to fill every line of the kind brown face with light, 
Allan went down toward the house. 

He was on his way to the garret — the garret that 
had been playroom for three generations of Wyatt 
children — and had set his foot on the narrow stair 
leading to it, when his cousin Mabel called to him : — 

“Is that you, Allan? Please ask Trudie if she 
is n’t coming. The rest of us are all here.” 

“ Mabel wants to know if you’re not coming up,” 
said Allan, knocking at a door halfway down the hall. 

“ I can’t,” replied a mournful voice within. “ Aunt 
Emily said she did n’t want to see these stockings in 
the wash again till they were mended. There *s three 
pairs.” 

“ Says she’s got to darn stockings,” reported Allan 
at the foot of the garret stairs. 


32 


GAB BET GBAIN. 


“Tell her to bring them up here,” cried Mabel; 
which being duly reported, the voice replied still more 
despondently: “ Oh, I can’t, I hate them so.” 

Then a gentle little voice from above called down : 
“ Tell her to make up some poetry about them.” 

To which the voice below answered with much more 
animation : “I ’ve got two verses done already and 
only one heel.” 

Having performed his duty as telephone, Allan 
started again to mount the stairs, when there was a 
hail from the kitchen, followed by a wail from the 
garret — no unusual occurrence. 

The hail from the kitchen said : “ Allan, if it is n’t 
raining too hard, your aunt would like to have you go 
to the village right away.” 

And the wail from the garret mourned: “Oh, we 
can’t spare Allan.” 

But when kitchen and garret came into collision 
the odds were in favor of the kitchen. Equipped 
with umbrella and rubber coat, Allan was soon on 
his way. 

The distance was perhaps a mile, but it could be 
shortened considerably by going through a strip of 
woodland. A railroad ran between its boundary and 
the village. Allan’s errand did not take long. As he 
entered the woods on his return he saw a boy walk 
swiftly down the track, turn, and jump the fence not 


OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 


33 


far from Allan himself. He struck the ground fairly, 
but, taking a step forward, caught his feet in a root, 
and turned almost completely over as he fell. 

Allan laughed outright. Checking himself, he hur- 
ried towards the stranger. 

“ Are you hurt ? ” he asked. “ I beg your pardon for 
laughing, but you went over just as our hired man did 
this morning, and it looked so funny to see two people 
tumble so much alike.” 

The youth was already on his feet, and picking up 
his soft felt hat crushed it down over his forehead, 
turned up the brim, and looked at Allan with a pair 
of merry eyes. 

“ I don’t wonder you laughed. I always laugh when 
a fellow goes down ; can’t help it even if he does get 
hurt. They told me to strike northeast through the 
woods. Which is northeast, anyway?” 

“ This way,” said Allan. “I’m going northeast my- 
self. AYill you share my umbrella ? ” 

The stranger looked down at his clothes. “ Thank 
you ; I ’m pretty wet already. I wouder how far through 
it is — to come out by Mr. Charles Wyatt’s? Do you 
go that way ? ” 

“I’m going there. I live there.” 

“ You do?” The stranger looked at him curiously. 
“ Why, you can ’t be Walter ; lie ’s only ten.” 

And though they were not expecting him for several 


34 


GARRET GRAIN. 


days yet, Allan knew that the guest he dreaded so 
much walked by his side. But this lad, with his plain 
gray suit, damp with rain and stained with mud, the 
water dripping from his hat brim, now turned down 
over a bright face and smiling eyes, was so very unlike 
the creature of his imagination that it was a moment 
or two before he answered : — 

“No; I’m Allan Foster; Mrs. Wyatt is my aunt. 
You must be Rodney Ellis.” 

“ That ’s what they call me — when it does n’t rain. 
You live at Uncle Charley’s, do you? Now is n’t that 
jolly?” 

He thrust his arm through Allan’s with the famil- 
iarity of an old friend. 

“ Tell me all about them. I have n’t been here since 
I was a little tad three years old. Mother died when 
I was four, and we lived so far away. Once Uncle 
Charley came to the city, but I was with my aunts then. 
He wrote once in a while, but father ’s no hand to keep 
up anything but a business correspondence, and I 
don’t know much about my uncle’s family, except their 
names. Maybe I don’t know all of those.” 

“ Well, there ’s Uncle and Aunt Wyatt,” Allan began ; 
“ Hosy Bannister and Mary Brown — he helps out of 
doors, and she in. Old Mrs. Wiggin has the south- 
east corner room downstairs — she stays there most of 
the time. Then there ’s Mabel, she ’s twelve ; Madge 


OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 


35 


and Walter, they’re twins; Harold, four; and Trudie 
and me.” 

“ And now me. There ’s enough of us to have good 
times. Who ’s old Mrs. Wiggin?” 

u She ’s an old lady whose son was killed on the rail- 
road. There was n’t any one left to take care of her, 
so Uncle Charley brought her home with him.” 

“ What do you find to do? ” 

‘•Work, play, go to school, fish, swim, row, ride, 
make garden, look after the cattle, go to town with 
Uncle Charley, go to church picnics sometimes. And 
there ’s always the garret.” 

“Gracious!” said Rodney. “I should think it 
would keep you on the jump. Do you eat and sleep 
as you go ? ” 

Allan darted from his side without replying, bounded 
over a fence near by, and chased three cows through 
a gap in a fence opposite. Then he hastily repaired 
the gap and rejoined his companion. 

“You can add to the rest of it, chasing Bolton’s 
cattle out of the meadow. He rents uncle’s farm just 
below this and he bothers us ’most to death. He ’s 
the meanest man — cheats and drinks and is always 
trying to get the better of people. There’s our 
house.” 

“ Why, it looks as if it were laughing at me ! ” cried 
Rodney. 


36 


GARRET GRAIN. 


And it did. In the center of the second story 
were two round windows ; when their shutters were 
thrown back and the hall door below them open, 
there was an odd resemblance to a great good- 
humored face. 

Mrs. Wyatt was so worried over Rodney’s drench- 
ing that she would have had him in bed at once with 
mustard plasters and hot- water bottles in quantit}", 
had not Uncle Charley interfered. 

“ Don’t you see he is n’t an invalid any longer, 
mother? Get into some of Allan’s clothes as quickly 
as possible, Rodney, then have a good hot dinner. 
You have had quite a walk ; the express only stops 
at the junction. Your trunk will be at Sparta, I 
suppose.” 

“ Yes, sir. They said that the junction was nearer 
your place ; and father told me how he used to walk 
through the woods to see mother, so I thought I ’d try 
it. It was n’t raining when I started. Father went 
to Pittsburgh day before yesterday. I could come that 
far with him. That ’s why I ’m here to-day instead of 
next week.” 

“ Welcome at any time, my boy ! Off with you now 
for some dry clothes.” 

The rain ceased. The children drew Rodney out to 
show him their pets among the horses, cows, sheep, 
and even pigs. The one attracting most attention 


OLD FBIENDS AND NEW. 


37 


just then was a great gray Norman named Gerty — 
named after Allan’s sister at her request. Gerty was 
the proud mother of her first colt that stood on its 
awkward, trembling legs at her side in the yard at the 
rear of the house. Every little while if she saw no 
one of the family, a gentle whinny would be heard 
at the outer door, and when the children ran out, as 
they invariably did, the great creature would turn her 
quivering nose and large soft eyes from them to the 
little creature at her side, claiming their admiration 
for it anew. 

Rodney had to hear her whole history ; how, big as 
she was, she could jump fences and so had to wear 
a poke in the field ; how she would pull out pegs with 
her teeth so that no stable door so fastened was safe 
with her in the barnyard. Then there was her strange 
friendship for an old Southdown sheep called Nance. 
Gerty had been seen to lift Nance fairly off her feet 
by a mouthful of fleece, and Nance in return would 
bunt Gerty’s gray legs. 

He was taken in to see Grandma Wiggin, who was 
so deaf that she could not hear it thunder, but could 
often tell what people were saying by the motion of 
their lips. She kept a slate by her side and she liked 
to have the children come in and write things on it for 
her to read. She knit a great deal, made quantities 
of patchwork, and in the summer raised a few silk- 


38 


GABBET GBAIN. 


worms. Rodney wrote his name on her slate and 
shook her very heartily by the hand. 

“So you’ve come to the House Blessed too,” she 
said, putting on her spectacles to read the name. 
“ Happy lad ! Dear lad ! ” 

She was a very nice old lady, Rodney thought, but 
he did not in the least know what she meant. 

Mr. Wyatt, seeing how readily he assimilated with 
the household, felt secretly relieved. “ He has much 
of his mother’s charm,” he said to Hosea. “Every- 
body loved Alice. The boy seems a pretty fair sort 
of fellow after all.” 

“New broom,” said Hosea laconically. “ Strikes 
me he ’s a little like ttiat fish up on the barn — puts his 
nose with the wind. Allan, now, ’s a little too much 
t’other way — sets down solid like the barn itself.” 

‘ ‘ They make a pretty good team , just about of an 
age and size.” 

“They’ll never run well in double harness, Mr. 
Wyatt — pull too hard each on his own rein. Shake 
’em up in a bag now ; take out half of one and half 
of t’ other ; make a matched span then.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE STORY OF THE GARRET, 


VER the entire length and breadth of the house 



V-/ stretched the garret. Whether the original 
builder, animated by prophetic instinct, planned for 
the wreckage of three generations or not, there it was, 
crowded back under the eaves, advancing outward in 
thinning lines, but even yet not filling more than a 
third of the wide floor space. There were chests that 
had come to the state in a wagon drawn by oxen ; hair 
trunks of a little later date ; spinning-wheels great 
and small ; broken clocks, from the ancient one that 
sedately ticked off quarter seconds to that of last year 
that quickly rattled itself to pieces Trying to keep up 
with present times ; old bedsteads piled up like cord- 
wood ; and furniture in all stages of dilapidation. 

The roof was gambrel or hipped, rising about eight 
feet from the floor to the comb. The intention had 
probably been to finish off the space into rooms as 
needed. A large semicircular window at either end 
lighted it. Eight feet from each window rose up an 
immense chimney, and a small stove, standing on three 


40 


GABBET GBAIN . 


legs with a brick for the fourth, poked an impudent 
sheet-iron elbow into the massive side of that on the 
south. 

Between this chimney and the window were six 
pieces of the veteran furniture — a haircloth sofa with 
no casters, a hump at each end and a hollow in the 
middle ; three chairs in various stages of decrepitude, 
and an old plush-covered rocking-chair with both 
rockers broken unevenly off. 

Every child in the Wyatt family and most of their 
friends had overturned in that chair at least once, 
but it still remained the throne of state in their attic 
parlor, and was usually occupied by the one who 
read aloud — generally Trudie. There was also a 
stand borne up on two of its original legs, while two 
others had been added by a youthful carpenter and 
were inclined to straddle. Against the chimney stood 
a dolls’ house, bureau, and cradle. Into this last the 
dolls were snugly tucked away with their wardrobe 
disposed of at its foot. 

The four sides of the chimney were decorated with 
pictures and mottoes of various kinds ; several of the 
latter evidently the work of an amateur in water 
colors. “God is Love ’’hung high above the rest; 
three of the letters were of streaky red, the others of 
watery blue. Nearly the whole side of the chimney 
under it was covered by a large sheet of stiff white 


THE STORY OF THE GARRET. 


41 


paper, bearing the following lines, in printing which 
the young artist had evidently exhausted her color 
box, for the last words were finished in crayon : — 

“ Do unto others as you would 
That they should do to you; 

Then you ’ll be happy, kind, and good, 

And honest, fair, and true.” 

There were other rhymes in smaller letters and less 
ambitious coloring tacked about on the chimney and 
rafters. Some were illustrated, and they were always 
signed “Gertrude Virginia” or “Virginia Gertrude” 
or “ Gertrude Virginia Foster.” 

At the opposite end of the garret several kites 
leaned against the wall ; there was an old violin, a 
box of tools, a broken bow, and two others in process 
of manufacture. 

Suddenly through the opening in the floor rose up 
a head. 

“ Whe-ow ! ” whistled the head. “Isn’t this 
scrumbumptious ? ” 

Another head appeared beside the first one, rested 
its chin on the edge of the opening, and looked around 
with a contented familiarity. 

“ Well, I never saw such a garret in my life,” pro- 
claimed the first head. “ I don’t believe there’s an 
other like it in the country.” 


42 


GABBET GBAIN. 


The other head shook itself gravely, using the chin 
as a pivot. “ Father says there is n't.” 

The owner of the first head sprang out on the floor, 
revealing Rodney Ellis, and Walter followed close at 
his heels. 

“Just the place,” said the older lad with a gleeful 
whistle, “ for no end of larks.” 

Walter nodded. “We’re up here most of the 
time, specially in bad weather.” 

“ Look at these chimneys — regular forts ! See 
this gun ; five feet long if it ’s an inch. Oh, I ’ll bet 
this old fellow ’s driven lead through lots of bears ; 
maybe an Indian or two.” 

“No,” replied literal Walter. “Grandpa traded 
for it when he was a young man and was awful 
proud of it. But the first charge he put in her she 
burst.” 

As Rodney put the gun back he noticed a long wire 
running clear across the garret crowded full with ears 
of corn hanging by loops of their own husks. 

“ Seed corn,” said Walter : “ field at this end, pop 
over yonder, and sweet in the middle. Always the 
best seed up garret. Grandpa’s father did it, so did 
grandpa, so does father.” 

“Bouncing big ears,” said Rodney, handling one. 
“ Hello ! what ’s this? ” 

“Poetry,” explained Walter proudly. “ Trudie 


THE STOBY OF THE GABBET 


43 


wrote it. She can write poetry ’most as fast as a 
horse can trot. What are you laughing at?” 

Rodney read aloud : — 

“Our dear old Tabby is very sad, 

For she has lost to-day 
Three kittens — yellow and black and white, 

And one that was partly gray.” 

“Are these supposed to be the kittens? ” 

“ Yes, those are the kittens ; at least, I guess so,” 
examining the illustration doubtfully. “The yellow 
one had black spots on it, but Trudie said you 
could n’t put everything into poetry. What ails 
you ? ” 

In a spasm of mirth Rodney read another stanza : — 

“We should be kind even to animals. 

Think how badly you would feel 
If you were a horse or cow or dog, 

And some bad boy should make you squeal.” 

“Well, wouldn’t you?” asked Walter. “I think 
it ’s awful mean to hurt anything that can ’t talk. 
Trudie’s poetry is all true, anyway.” 

“The very first thing,” said Rodney briskly, “let 
us move all this trash over to the other window. 
Then I ’ll bring my hammock up here. It won’t be 
first-rate warm for a month yet, and I ’ll get my games 


44 


GARRET GRAIN. 


and my books and we ’ll make it look like another 
place.” 

“ The other end is where we keep our things,” said 
Walter; “ this is the girls’ window.” 

“Well, we might as well have it as they — it’s 
much the pleasantest. I presume they ’ve had it a 
good while.” 

“We can’t disturb the girls,” said Walter posi- 
tively ; “ that would n’t be garret grain.” 

“What do you mean by that? There’s garret 
grain,” pointing to the ears of corn. 

“ Yes, I know ; so is the other. The best of any- 
thing, grain or — or kind things like the poetry there : 
‘ Do unto others ’ ” — 

“ I don’t see the connection,” said Rodney, stretch- 
ing himself on the hummocky sofa. 

“ You ’ve never heard the story of the garret. 
Get father to tell you to-night. Come, let ’s go 
downstairs ; I know dinner ’s ’most ready by the 
smell.” 

Rodney remained on the sofa for some time after 
the sound of Walter’s footsteps had ceased ; then he 
departed in search of Allan, whom he found in the 
stable. 

He had liked Allan from the first ; yet he felt that 
young Foster held aloof from him. He rested his 
arms on the manger, talked about the horses a little, 


THE STORY OF THE GARRET. 


45 


and then made the same suggestion he had made to 
Walter. 

“ I ’ve been up in the garret ; it ’s a jolly old place. 
I ’m going to hang my hammock up by the south win- 
dow, and keep my games there.” 

Allan measured out several quarts of oats to the 
horses before replying briefly, “Guess you won’t — 
not at that end.” 

“Won’t, eh? Why not?” 

“ Because you won’t.” 

He had not said it kindly — he had not meant it 
kindly, and his gray eyes met Rodney’s with a glint 
like steel. Rodney turned away offended. Collisions 
were almost certain between them. Yet deep in the 
heart of each lay a germ that might ripen into strong 
friendship, if not destroyed by the clash of tempera- 
ments so totally different. 

“ The story of the garret grain, Rodney?” said Mr. 
Wyatt. He was holding Harold on his knee, and the 
other children were grouped expectantly around ; they 
all knew it, but they loved to hear him tell it. 

“ There was a sick woman,” piped up Harold with 
sleepy suddenness, “ in a g-garret, and she saw the 
c-corn, and she p-p-prayed — ah-o-o-o ! ” 

His jaws came together after a protracted yawn, and 
his head dropped heavily back upon his father’s shoulder. 


46 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“ What has that to do with my boy when he is in 
the garret?” asked Mr. Wyatt, pinching the dimpled 
chin. 

“ When I ’m ba-bad I come down,” murmured 
Harold. 

“A long time ago,” began Uncle Charley, “ when 
my grandfather — your great-grandfather, Rodney — 
was living, most of the colored people in the south 
were slaves. People, however, were beginning to see 
how wicked and unnatural it was for one human being 
to buy and sell another, and many of the negroes who 
escaped found friends in the northern states who 
helped them on their way to Canada. 

“ Grandfather felt very strongly upon the subject, 
but he was a quiet man, kept his opinions mostly to 
himself, and did not come into collision with his neigh- 
bors who thought differently. It was not from any 
lack of bravery — when the need came he spoke out 
quietly but decidedly ; but he saw nothing to be 
gained by angry disputes and therefore avoided 
them. 

“The old garret had sheltered several fugitives 
before the one of whom I am going to tell you ; but 
none who so sorely needed its protection. 

“ A friend of grandfather, who lived some miles 
away, was so outspoken with his sentiments that he 
came near being mobbed several times. His barn was 


THE STORY OF THE GARRET. 


47 


burned, and word sent him that if he harbored any 
more negroes, his house should go next. 

“ In the middle of the stormy night he came here, 
bringing a poor woman, half clothed, half starved, 
shivering and burning by turns, in the first stages of 
fever. She and her husband had fled, taking different 
directions, as it seemed safer; where he was she did 
not know. With her baby in her arms she had crept 
along by night, hiding in the woods in the daytime, 
and only daring to ask for food when away from the 
vicinity of towns. 

“ I have heard my grandfather say that he never 
could forget the poor creature’s face as she stood 
before them, the baby wrapped in her thin ragged shawl 
clasped tight to her breast, her haggard eyes turning 
from one to another. Grandmother went toward her 
with outstretched hands, and the poor wanderer with 
one long pleading look laid her baby in those friendly 
arms and fell senseless at grandmother’s feet. 

“They took her to the garret, for they knew that 
she would be safer there. She was very ill for a long 
time. The doctor came only at night. They had no 
outside help at the time, and her presence there was 
never suspected, though the neighbor’s house was 
searched. The poor little baby scarcely ever cried ; 
they thought it would die ; but mother and child both 
finally recovered. 


48 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“ To go back in my story a little. The seed corn 
swinging on its line seemed to connect itself with the 
poor woman’s fevered fancy as a sign of safety. In 
her quieter moments she would sing little songs to it, 
or talk to it of growing green and tall ; and when wild 
with delirium, imagining the pursuers close on her 
track, they could soothe her by calling her attention 
to the long row of yellow ears. 

“Once when she was getting better, grandmother 
sat reading the Bible to her and she came to the par- 
able of the sower. As she read the invalid stretched 
out her hand to stroke grandmother’s, whispering, 
‘You a-sowin’ too, missy; you a-sowin’ garret grain.’ 

“Her husband was heard from. He had reached 
Canada and was earning good wages. The pursuers 
gave up their search, supposing she was with him ; so 
when she was entirely well she was conveyed safely 
and secretly across the border. 

“Before leaving the garret she knelt down and 
prayed for a blessing on those who had been so kind, 
and even on the room that had sheltered her so long. 
‘ On de roof dat covers it,’ so the story goes, she 
prayed ; ‘ on all dat come under it ; on de seed dat 
hangs here ripenin’. May no blight nor worm blast 
its harvest ; may de hearts be true forever, and may 
de children dat play here sow only de good Lord’s 
garret grain all der lives long.’ 


THE STOBY OF THE GABBET. 


49 


“ It seemed as if the blessing came,” said Mr. 
Wyatt, stroking the sleeping Harold’s hair. “Our 
harvests have never failed even in unseasonable years. 
Sickness has rarely come to us. Those who have 
been called home have passed away with but little 
suffering. Those who have gone out into the world 
have been saved from great sins or disasters, and all 
have been lovers and servers of our Lord Christ. 
And that is why people call this old home the House 
Blessed.” 

“But there’s something more about the garret, 
isn’t there?” asked Rodney. 

“From that time, certainly as far back as I can 
remember,” Uncle Charley resumed, “ we children 
were taught to feel that the garret was consecrated 
to truth and kindness. We never quarreled up there. 
If hard words or hard thoughts began, one party or 
the other came downstairs. And from that has grown 
our habit of calling everything that is unselfish, kind, 
and true, garret grain.” 

It was past Harold’s bedtime. Mr. Wyatt carried 
him from the room, his mother following. 

Rodney rose and leaned against the mantel. “ Sup- 
pose the one that begins the fuss won’t come down ? ” 
he demanded. 

“ Then the rest of us do,” replied his cousins in 
chorus. 


50 


GARRET GRAIN. 


• “ Do you come down often, Walter? ” 

“ ’Bout every day,” said Walter frankly. 

“ Do you ever, Allan? ” 

“ Sometimes,” said Allan gruffly. Mr. Wyatt was 
just reentering the room. Allan caught his eye and 
colored. 

“We all take spells at it,” he said in a pleasanter 
tone, “ except Madge and Trudie. They come down 
very seldom.” 

“I should think some days there ’d be a regular 
procession,” remarked Rodney. 

“ Well, there is,” said Mabel so earnestly that they 
all laughed. 

Then a sudden quiet fell on the little assembly, for 
Mr. Wyatt was turning over the leaves of the big 
Bible. He began the evening lesson, reading with 
grave gentleness, “Behold, a sower went forth to 


sow. 




CHAPTER V. 

IN THE GARRET. 

"I r OW it rained ! April outdid herself in weeping. 

-* — But no matter how hard and fast it rained, 

there was nothing dismal in its sound upon the garret 

roof. Sometimes the drops came with tiny distinct 

taps like fairies knocking, and always an echo like a 

fairy’s laugh. And when they came in troops and 

battalions as they were doing now the laugh went 

rushing all along the eaves. 

© © 

A mouse came creeping softly out from some dark 
hiding place and scampered towards the south chimney, 
stopping there to raise himself on his tiny hind feet 
and point his quivering whiskers towards one of 
Gertrude Virginia’s rhymes as if he were reading it. 
A noise on the stairs sent him scurrying back into the 
darkness. 

Up through the stairway opening came Mabel ; 
Madge and Walter sprang out either side, one turning 
north, the other south. Trudie followed, leading 
Harold, and though he firmly clutched a dilapidated 
doll and wore kilts, he trotted resolutely after Walter 


51 


52 


GARRET GRAIN. 


to the north side and sat down contentedly on a stool 
Walter placed for him against the chimney. 

Mabel was down on her knees rummaging in the 
dolls’ trunk. She was twelve years old, but she 
dearly loved to play with dolls yet. 

“ Did you ever see any one wear out her clothes 
faster than Julia Juliana does? Where is the red 
cape I am making for her? Here ’s Anna Angelica’s 
skirt, Madge. You ’ve got the hem turned up on the 
wrong side.” 

“ So I have ! But it won’t make any difference.” 

“ ‘What’s worth doing at all is worth doing well.’ 
There ! I ’m so glad to say that to somebody else. 
Mother and Mary say it to me five times a day 
apiece.” 

“ Not every day,” said Madge with a little sigh, 
beginning to rip out the faulty hem. 

“Now, Trudie,” commanded Mabel when she and 
Madge were nestled down in the hollow of the hum- 
mocky sofa with the thread and scissors between them, 
“ read us the poetry you made on those stockings.” 

“Wait till I get there,” cried Walter, dragging his 
broken-backed chair across the floor with a good deal 
of noise. “ Come along, Harold. Now go ahead, 
Trudie, please.” 

Trudie began. Sbe had a pleasant voice and read 
with a good deal of expression : — 


IN THE GARRET. 


53 


“I think it’s very shocking 
To have to mend a stocking 
When there’s something else I’d so much rather do; 

I hear them on the stair 
And I almost do declare 

That I will not stay this wretched work to view.” 

“That’s very good, Trudie,” said Mabel approv- 
ingly. 

“Did you hear us ou the stair?” asked Walter, 
who was nothing at all if not literal. 

Trudie nodded, continuing, — 

“ I go and sit me down, 

On my forehead is a frown, 

And I pull my needle in and out and in. 

The hole it smaller grows; 

There’s another in the toes 
That looks as if it were made by a piece of tin.” 

“ There ’s something the matter with that line,” 
said Trudie, scrutinizing it. “But I had to get a 
rhyme for in.” 

“You might have said ‘looks like sin,’” Mabel 
suggested. 

“ O Mabel ! ” said gentle little Madge. 

“ You don’t know how sin looks,” put in Walter. 

“ I know those great big holes look dreadfully when 
you’ve got ’em to mend. Go on, Trudie.” 

But up the stairway came Allan, carrying a brace 
and bit, followed by Rodney with a hammock and 


54 


GABBET GBAIN. 


two large steel hooks. Trudie quietly laid her verses 
aside and joined the others, who crowded around the 
newcomers. 

“Hang it here, Rodney. We’re ’most always all 
over on this side.” 

“ Yes, and hit the chimney every time you swing.” 

“ This is the best place, right here in the middle — 
can’t hit a thing unless it ’s the roof.” 

“You ’ll go downstairs like a shot, though, if you 
tumble out.” 

A location was finally agreed upon nearer the chim- 
ney than the stairway, as it was unanimously agreed 
to be safer to risk hitting the one than falling down 
the other. 

When the hammock was up Rodney rolled Harold 
in the netting, bidding him hold tight, and swung him 
a dozen times or more. Harold enjoyed it hugely and 
grew very serious when Rodney took him out and 
stretched himself at full length in the net. 

“ P-please some more,” urged the little fellow. 

Rodney mocked him : “ P-please some more.” 

“ I d-do want to swing some m-more,” insisted 
Harold. 

“ I d-do want to swing some m-more,” echoed Rod- 
ney ; and with all his baby force Harold banged the 
dilapidated doll across his tormentor’s arm. 

A sibilant “ Oli-h ! ” sighed through the garret. 


IN THE GARRET. 


55 


Harold looked around at the girls, his lips begin- 
ning to quiver. Then he pattered toward the stair- 
way, dragging his battered favorite after him by one 
arm, and they heard him sob as he climbed down 
clinging to the hand rail. 

“So that’s the way you do it,” laughed Rodney. 
“ Poor little chap ! I really suppose I was the one to 
go. I teased him.” 

No one contradicted the assertion. Rodney swung 
himself contentedly, thinking of Harold with amused 
pity, but quite too comfortable to move. Madge and 
Walter cast wistful glances at the hammock. It was not 
usual in the garret for one to monopolize any pleasure. 
Allan felt immeasurably superior to the newcomer. 

“Your knife isn’t sharp enough, Walter,” he said 
with especial kindness in his tone. “ Give me the 
whetstone and I ’ll sharpen it for you. You may use 
mine while you’re waiting. What are you going to 
read to us, Trudie ? ” 

“I’ve got some splendid books,” said Rodney 
before Trudie had a chance to reply; “make your 
hair stand straight up. But then,” clasping his hands 
under his head, “ they ’re not just the thing for girls ; 
real boys’ books. You and Walter and I can get at 
them some day, Allan.” 

“Thank you. We’ll see what uncle thinks about 
them,” said Allan, still superior. 


56 


GAIUiET GBAIN. 


“Father says,” put in Walter after a moment of 
rather embarrassing silence, “ that a bad book is worse 
than a bad man. He says you can get away from a 
bad man, but a bad book stays with you forever.” 

“ You seem to take it for granted that mine are that 
kind,” said Rodney, coloring to the roots of his hair. 

“ Trudie, read your verses,” directed Mabel. “Begin 
at the beginning, so the boys can hear them all.” 

Trudie, nothing loath, did so. 

“ Thank you ; they were so funny and so nice,” said 
Madge, leaning over to kiss her. 

Walter pronounced them capital. 

Rodney rose up in his hammock and gazed at the 
poetess with a stare like an owl. “ Did you do them 
all yourself?” he demanded; “all out of your own 
head ? ” 

Somewhat confused, Trudie answered faintly : 
“Yes.” 

“All out of her own head,” said Rodney, clutching 
at his with both hands. “ No wonder her hair looks as 
if the rats had made a nest in it.” 

Trudie involuntarily put up her hand. 

“ She ’s got 4 shocking ’ and 4 stocking ’ nine times 
apiece,” said Rodney, falling back into his hammock as 
if completely overcome, “and ‘down’ and ‘frown’ 
five times. All out of her own head ! Oh, my ! 
oh, my ! ” 


IN THE GAEBET. 


57 

Allan got up % shut his knife with a snap, and stalked 
towards the stairs. 

“ What ails him ? ” inquired Rodney, sitting up again. 
“ What ’s he done ? ” 

“ I don’t believe he likes to hear you make fun of 
Tru die’s verses,” said Madge gravely. 

Mabel was so surprised at Rodney’s reception of the 
poetry that for a wonder she had nothing to say. 

u Oh, never mind,” said Trudie, hastily turning over 
some books on the table. “ I suppose they do sound 
queer to Rodney. Let us finish that account of the 
Indians and their teachers we began the other day.” 
She was so nearly ready to cry that it took consid- 
erable winking and quite a search before she found 
the book. 

“ Yes ; let us hear about the Indians,” said Rodney, 
lying down. “ That beats poetry all to pieces.” 

Trudie’s pretty voice was quite husky when she 
began, but it grew clearer as she went on reading. 
The children listened with great interest to the story of 
the work at Carlisle, and Rodney went to sleep. 

When he awoke the garret was empty. Some one 
had covered him with a shawl which he recognized as 
Trudie’s. 

“ She ’s a good little soul,” he thought, pushing it 
aside ; “ but my ! don’t she look like the witches ! ” 

Poor, untidy, careless Trudie ! Aunt Emily was 


58 


GAIi BET GBAIN. 


fairly discouraged. Her hair was rarely combed more 
than once a day unless by special command. Her 
shoes were unfastened half the time, and nearly always 
lacked their full complement of buttons. Frequently 
she appeared in one of Aunt Emily’s or Mabel’s gowns, 
because her own all needed mending at once. 

As Rodney lay swinging lazily in the hammock not 
more than half awake his eyes rested on the two mot- 
toes staring at him from the chimney side. He smiled 
anew at the crooked streaky letters, but as he looked 
the story of the garret grain seemed somehow twisted 
in and out among the words. 

They all went back after dinner. Rodney carried 
Harold and apologized to the glum Allan. “ Say, I’m 
sorry I laughed at your sister’s verses, I am for a fact. 
Let us go upstairs and act an Indian raid.” 

Then did the garret ring with" merriment. Even 
Allan giggled when Rodney gravely presented him with 
an old hoopskirt as part of his Indian array, and tied 
fast on his own head a bonnet belonging to a far-past 
generation. The garret did not boast much in the way 
of old clothes. Trudie said mournfully that Aunt 
Emily never waited for anything to wear out ; she 
always gave it away. Allan refused the hoopskirt 
and draped himself in an old curtain. Walter had part 
of an ancient spread. Rodney trailed a tattered red 
table cover several inches on the floor behind him to 


IN THE GAB BET. 


59 


liis after misfortune, and completed his toilet by adorn- 
ing the bonnet with a tall bunch of crumpled artificial 
flowers waving on its crown. 

This brought down the house. “ Who ever saw an 
Indian with a bonnet on?” 

“The same crowd that see him in a red tablecloth. 
Wah-oo-o!” cried Rodney, springing in the air and 
waving a shingle hutchet. 

The girls fled to the blockhouse behind the chimney, 
while the invaders retreated to the farther end of the 
garret in order to make their advance as striking as 
possible. Up and down between the two parties danced 
Harold, whooping wildly in imitation of Rodney. 

“ Take him over there with you,” bawled Allan. 

“ I want to be Indian,” clamored Harold. 

“ He won’t stay here,” cried the girls in chorus. 

“ He ’ll be most awfully in the way here,” complained 
Rodney. 

He was finally coaxed to remain in the blockhouse by 
being allowed to hold the old gun across a chair seat 
for a cannon. 

Then the savages crept stealthily in and out among 
the boxes and old furniture, their faces artistically 
striped with red and blue crayon. They rose up from 
behind barrel or chest in a manner to strike terror to 
the beholder ; the girls uttered little screams of delighted 
fear. Just as the Indians made a grand rush forward 


60 


GAB RET GRAIN. 


Rodney stumbled over the cradle in which Anna Angel- 
ica and Julia Juliana were peacefully reposing. He 
kicked it aside ; in so doing he stepped backward 
on his trailing robe and sat down so hard that his 
bonnet, lath gun, and shingle hatchet flew in different 
directions and the cannon in the blockhouse rattled 
down on Harold’s toes. 

“ Why under the sun could n’t you have put your old 
doll things out of the way?” growled Rodney, suddenly 
losing his temper and kicking the offending cradle 
clear over the sofa. 

There was a crash of china. Harold’s lamentation, 
u Oh, my toes ! ” was echoed by a wail from Madge : 
“Oh, my dolls ! ” 

“ Shut up, both of you ! ” cried Rodney, stooping 
down to rub his own toes which had come sharply into 
contact with the sofa leg, “ or I ’ll bump your squalling 
heads together.” 

He rose up to see the entire party, headed by Allan, 
leave the garret. Harold brought up the rear, being 
towed along by Madge while he turned upon Rodney a 
tearful countenance expressive of the most virtuous 
reproof. 

“ Go along if you want to. Who cares ! ” muttered 
Rodney, and sulked in his hammock for an hour. 


CHAPTER VI. 


WEEDS GROWING-. SEED SOWING. 


I HATE a lie ! ” said Allan. 

He and Hosy were hoeing potatoes. The wet 
spring had brought weeds forward in unusual num- 
bers, and every hour of sunshine was filled with work. 

“That’s orthodox,” rejoined Hosy, “ if you don’t 
hate the liar.” 

“ How are you going to help it? What’s the dif- 
ference ? ” 

“ Well, it does seem as if lyin’ soaked into a man’s 
soul deeper than ’most anything else, that ’s a fact,” 
said Hosy, pulling up a handful of pea vines. 
“There’s Bolton, now; he’s one solid lie inside and 
out.” 

Allan hoed on silently till they reached the end of 
the row. Then, as they turned to come up again, he 
said: “Do you remember last week uncle calling up 
to the sheep barn loft, ‘ Rodney, are you smoking up 
there?’ He said, ‘No, sir,’ downright. Well, he 
was holding the lighted cigarette in his hand, and he 
winked at me as he said it. He does that sort of 
thing so much.” 


61 


62 


G ARMET GBAIN. 


“Hope you told him that half a truth was some- 
times more ’n a whole lie.” 

“I didn’t tell him anything. What’s the use? 
He knows what I think.” 

“Threw the thing away, didn’t he?” asked Hosy, 
referring to the cigarette. “ It come flyin’ out of the 
loft window and lit under my feet when I was leadin’ 
Gerty out to drink. He ain’t smoked since, I guess. 
Your uncle talked pretty plain.” 

“Not where any one sees him.” 

“You watch him pretty close, don’t you? Have 
you seen him?” 

Allan colored and admitted that he had not. “ But 
I’m not a spy nor a telltale, Hosy; I don’t like to 
have you speak that way.” 

“ No ; you ’re a straightforward honest lad as need 
be ; your weeds is another sort. I don’t want to say 
nothin’ that ’ll hurt, Allan, but envy and jealousy ’s 
got roots as long as these here mallows, and it ’pears 
sometimes as if they went clear to China. You can’t 
expect Rodney to get over his bad habits right away, 
but he ’s doin’ pretty well. The good blood ’s a-showin' 
itself in him. There ’s a strain from the House 
Blessed — and he ’s goin’ to make a pretty likely 
fellow after all.” 

Yes, there was a strain from the House Blessed in 
Rodney, while Allan’s own heritage — Hosea knew 


WEEDS GB OWING. 


63 


nothing about it ; so there had been no intentional 
sting in the words ; but Allan shut his lips tight, and 
as it began to rain again he and Hosea were obliged 
to leave the patch. 

“Allan! O Allan!” cried Madge, meeting him at 
the door as they hurried in out of the downpour. 
“Come upstairs. Rodney’s planned a splendid play 
out of Robinson Crusoe.” 

Things were moving more smoothly in the garret. 
There were still excursions below — poor Harold com- 
ing down at least once a day, and the others at 
varying intervals. Several times Rodney was left sole 
occupant ; but though used to having his own way, he 
was not naturally quarrelsome, and the example of the 
others was having its effect. 

“ Oh, bother ! stay where you are ; I ’ll go,” usually 
prefaced a hasty departure when he knew himself in 
the wrong. The first time it was accompanied by an 
oath, but he did not offend in that way again. 

Allan inwardly resented the eagerness with which 
the others followed Rodney’s lead, yet he himself 
enjoyed the variety in their amusements constantly 
proposed by the merry, ready-witted boy. 

“Where’s your desert island?” he inquired, mak- 
ing a telescope of his hands in a pretended search. 

“Desert island nothing ! How’s that for a cave?” 
Rodney pulled him down to look at an artistic fissure 


64 


GARRET GRAIN. 


between irregular walls of chests and boxes. “You 
be chief of the cannibals, Harold is Friday, and while 
you ’re singing and dancing around him I ’ll fire off 
my gun.” 

The girls were excitedly hunting things to dress 
up in, regardless of the fact that cannibals were usu- 
ally untroubled by toilet. 

Rodney pinned an old moth-eaten fur tippet around 
his head, turned his coat wrong side out, and declared 
himself ready. 

While Harold submitted gleefully to being bound, a 
drawling voice from the stairway remarked : “ Halloo ! 
what you cordin’ the young one up that way for?” 

“We’re cannibals; we're going to play pretend 
to eat him. Come, Hosy ; come and dance ’round 
with us.” 

“ Goin’ to make a pie of him, eh?” said Hosy, sit- 
ting down on the edge of the opening. “ Thauky, 
Mabel; my dancin’ days ain’t begun yet. ’Sides, I 
might knock my head through the roof, and I ’d be 
sure to tangle up with su’thin’. I ’ll sit here and sing 
for ye.” 

“ Ready ! here goes ! ” cried Rodney, backing gayly 
into his cave. “ Ouch ! Whew ! ” 

Crusoe never came more briskly out of his retreat 
than Rodney left his. 

“Found it inhabited, did ye?” said Hosy. “Get 


WEEDS GROWING. 


65 


him a pinch of sody, Mabel ; that ’ll take out the 
sting. Pretty early fur them yeller-waisted critters.” 

Rodney retired again with greater caution, and 
Friday was brought forward to the music of a sav- 
agely irregular chorus, which grew less savage and 
more irregular when Hosea joined in with a series 
of ridiculous squeals and whoops. The dancing was 
very spasmodic ; the cannibals fell against one an- 
other and poor Friday’s position was no sinecure. 
Rodney, shrieking with laughter, forgot his part, and 
presently Aunt Emily’s voice rose above the racket : — 

“Children, children , children! what under the 
canopy are you doing ? ” 

“ Nothin’ injuryus, Mis’ Wyatt,” responded Hosy ; 
“I’m here.” 

“Oh, are you?” said Aunt Emily in a relieved 
tone. “ Don’t let them take the roof off quite.” 

“ I ’ll have ’em put it right back again, ma’am, if 
they do,” rejoined Hosea. “ Now then, look alive, 
Mr. Crusoe, or these here cannibals ’ll tromp poor 
Friday into pancake.” 

Then Mr. Wyatt’s voice disturbed the proceedings : 
“ Hosy — Allan — Mr. Bolton’s cattle are in the east 
meadow.” 

Hosea uttered an exclamation of impatience. 
“ Con — cern him ! — and them too — him twice over ! 
Can’t blame the dumb brutes for goin’ where they ’ll 


66 


GARRET GRAIN. 


get su’thin* to eat. When a man holds on to more 
stock than he can half feed the law ought to yank 
him.” 

He got up deliberately, but he bumped his head, 
tore his sleeve on a nail, stubbed his toe, and said : 
“ Cre-e-a-tion ! ” four times before reaching the hall 
below. Excitement never hurried Hosea, but he 
seemed to tangle up more than ever under its 
influence. 

“That’s the sixth time they’ve been in in less ’n 
two weeks. Look here, Allan, you and me laid this 
fence up in March ; I want you to see how these rails 
lie. I ’ll bet the beast that hooked them off walked 
on his hind legs.” 

They had driven the young cattle out after consider- 
able trouble, and the young green turf, spongy with 
recent rain, was badly cut by the trampling hoofs. 
Hosea and Allan, having found the breach, were 
repairing it when they were joined by Mr. Wyatt. 

“If you’re goin’ to pasture Bolton’s stock all sum- 
mer,” said the former to his employer, “ seems like 
you ’d better make some bargain with him ; and you 
might as well. He can lay down fences faster ’n we 
can build ’em up.” 

“Tut, tut, Hosy ! we mustn’t suspect a neighbor 
without some evidence.” 

“Evidence! I’ve seen them critters stand along 


WEEDS Gli OWING. 


67 


the fence a-lookin’ over with tears in their eyes for 
half a day and never bump a rail. There was no 
horns about the way those rails lay down ’ceptin’ they 
was on the old feller that puts people up to such 
tricks. Why, it ’s an old dodge of Bolton’s, Mr. 
Wyatt.” 

“I do believe, uncle, that he puts the rails down,” 
said Allan indignantly. 

44 Hush, hush, both of you ! Think how harshly 
you are judging ; how much injury you may do an 
innocent man. We ’ll come up here the first thing 
to-morrow and drive stakes at the corners and wire the 
rails to them.” 

44 You ’ll have to do it along the whole side.” 

44 Then we will doit along the whole side. It is 
better than quarreling.” 

44 If I had such a tenant as that Bolton,” said Hosy, 
who, being started on his pet grievance, found it hard 
to stop, 44 I’d set him out on his travels so quick he 
wouldn’t know which end he stood on.” 

44 No, you wouldn’t, Hosy. Think of those eight 
children.” 

4 4 They ’d be enough sight better off in an orphan 
asylum. What’s he doin’ for ’em only teachin’ ’em 
to drink and lie and cheat? Think it’s a good thing 
to have eight more like him scattered ’round ? ” 

44 There ’s his poor wife ” — 


68 


GAB BET GBAIN. 


“Off the same piece, I’ll bet, or she’d never have 
mated with him.” 

“ Perhaps he was n’t so bad when she ” — 

“ Yes, he was jest so bad when she married him. 

Bolton ’s been the ornariest ornarv kind of mean all 

* v 

the way up. It makes me hot, Mr. Wyatt, to see you 
bearin’ with that feller and standin’ his meanness, and 
he a-pilin’ it on jest ’cause he knows you will.” 

“ Well, well, Hosy, don’t let us talk like this any 
more. We are Christians, Hosy ; let us try to set an 
example of mercy and patience to the boys. Don’t 
forget the garret grain.” 

“ It’ll take all there is of that in the House Blessed 
to seed Bolton down, and then it won’t even sprout — 
soil ’s too sour bad.” 

“0 Hosy, Hosy!” Mr. Wyatt shook his head, 
but he could not forbear smiling. Hosea was usually 
good-natured and kind, but he took an occasional 
prejudice that entirely overcame his Christian charity. 
In this case he only echoed the opinion of the whole 
neighborhood. Mr. Bolton was tricky and unreliable ; 
he had not a friend in the vicinity. 

Walter was hammering away in the toolhouse when 
his father, passing, looked in to ask of Rodney’s 
whereabouts. In his youth Mr. Wyatt had a passion 
for mechanics ; the passion had repeated itself in 
Walter, who was never happier than when taking 


WEEDS GEO WING. 


69 


something to pieces — unless, indeed, when putting it 
together again. They had left Rodney in the garret, 
he told his father, and thither Mr. Wyatt went to 
seek him. 

“Yes, sir, I’m here,” Rodney answered to his 
uncle’s question from the foot of the stairs. “ You 
need n’t come up, uncle ; I ’ll come right down.” 

“ Oh, I like to visit the old garret,” said Mr. Wyatt. 
“ Some of the pleasantest memories of my life are 
connected with it.” 

He stood looking thoughtfully about, past and pres- 
ent mingling with his thoughts. Here was Walter’s 
kite ; yonder the fragmentary rocking-horse, on which 
he and Walter’s uncles had ridden all over the world, 
and fairyland besides, without leaving the enchanted 
garret. Here were Madge’s dolls ; there the small 
bureau in which his sister kept her dolls’ wardrobe. 
And here before him was her son. 

Mr. Wyatt sat down in the hammock by Rodney’s 

side. “I guess it will bear us both; those hooks 

look strong. Your mother and I used to play around 
this very, chimney. There is a mark on this corner 
where I measured her the day she was eight years 
old.” 

He got up to find it. Rodney stood at his side, 

interested in the search. “ Yes, here it is, and here 

is mine above. T was quite a good deal taller.” 


70 


GASKET GBAIN. 


Rodney gazed at it eagerly. The mother he did 
not remember became very real as his uncle described 
the measuring. He could almost see her leaning 
against the bricks — a little girl smaller than his 
cousin Madge. After that he hardly ever looked long 
at the chimney without thinking of her there — the 
knife lying on her curly head before it scratched the 
mark, her blue eyes uplifted following her brother’s 
hand. 

“ I wish you ’d tell me about her, Uncle Charley,” 
he said as they sat down again. u Just think, I don’t 
know anything about her hardly. When I ask father 
he says, ‘ She was the best woman in the world, my 
boy ; * and that ’s all he says.” 

“ I thought her the best sister a boy ever had,” said 
Mr. Wyatt, smiling; “always unselfish and loving. 
Father and mother had to tell the rest of us the 
Golden Rule many and many a time, but Alice seemed 
to know and live it from the first. A little quick- 
tempered like her boy here ” — Rodney looked away a 
moment, but his eyes soon fastened themselves again 
on his uncle’s face — “ but the flash was very quickly 
over and so sweetly, frankly repented of ; generous, 
too ; my precious sister Alice was always full of 
thought for others — her own pleasure last. And so 
truthful ! so truthful herself that she trusted every 
one. How well I remember the first — I think — I 


WEEDS GROWING. 


71 


know it was the last — lie I ever told her ! The creek 
had been frozen quite a while and I enjoyed the skat- 
ing very much. There came a thaw ; the ice cracked 
several times when I was on it one morning, but I 
wanted to go back in the afternoon. I can hear 
Alice’s voice calling after me : 4 Is the ice safe, Char- 
ley?’ 4 Perfectly safe,’ I shouted back and hurried 
on.” 

Mr. Wyatt paused, beginning after a little more 
slowly : — 

44 She came to call me to supper. I was . out of 
sight behind the bend, and having perfect faith in my 
word she walked boldly out upon the ice. It suddenly 
gave way. Providentially the edge she clung to with 
her little hands in falling did not break. A man 
chopping wood upon the bank heard her scream and 
waded out to her, the icy water up to his neck. It 
was a sharp lesson to me. There is nothing more 
dangerous to ourselves or others, Rodney, than a lie.” 

He had his arm about his nephew now and they 
were swinging slowly to and fro. 

“She was sitting, here by my side one day and I 
noticed her eyes resting on that motto on the chimney. 
It was on an old sampler then, but the letters all 
faded and Trudie made us this new one. Your 
mother looked at it a long while. How blue and soft 
her eyes were ! At last she said : 4 Charley, I know 


72 


GARRET GRAIN. 


what that means now. It is true, Charley ; it means 
Jesus.’ ” 

A red bird flew into the tree whose top rose near 
into the open garret window, and the air quivered with 
his evening song. The Name Wonderful and the bird’s 
song floating heavenward twined themselves together 
in Rodney’s memory forever. 

“Ah, well! she was his loving, faithful follower 
here ; she has been at home with him ten years — long 
years, Rodney, to us who loved her.” 

There were tears in the man’s eyes as he looked 
down upon the boy, and tears in the boy’s eyes raised 
to his. 

The treetop trembled with the torrent of melody 
from the tiny scarlet throat ; the branch shook with 
the spurning of the slender feet. A bit of living 
flame darted past the window and the bird w T as away 
to his orchard home. Out in the barnyard they heard 
Allan and Hosy calling the cows. 

The voices called them back to the present. “What 
do you say, Rodney,” asked his uncle briskly, “ to 
beginning some out-of-door work? You seem quite 
strong again, and I don’t want you to get into idle 
ways, not only for your own sake, but because of the 
example to Walter.” 

“ All right, sir,” said Rodney, who felt at that 
moment that there was nothing his uncle could ask of 


WEEDS GB OWING. 


73 


him that he was not willing to grant. “ Tell me what 
to do and how. I want to be counted right in.” 

“There are always the chores — you begin to see 
what they are. Take hold anywhere ; the boys are 
glad of help. They have a share in the profits too. 
Each has a pig or a calf or a sheep, sometimes all 
three, for looking after the others. Allan has ten or 
a dozen sheep already; Walter, who hasn’t been in 
the business so long, three. Will you have a pig 
and a sheep ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Rodney, laughing at the twinkle in 
his uncle’s eyes, “ if you ’ve got them to spare.” 

“Then we are partners.” Mr. Wyatt held out his 
hand, which Rodney squeezed in both of his. “ And 
there is the garden. Each is welcome to all the 
ground he will care for, and seed in plenty.” 

‘ ‘ Garret grain ? ” 

“ Of course.” He put his arm around the boy 
again as they crossed the floor together. “ You know 
there is a kind that one needs to keep planting the 
year round.” 

“I do know it, Uncle Charley. You’ve been sow- 
ing some this afternoon.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


IN THE HARDEN. 

G ARDEN making was the order of the day. 

“ Now go slow, Rodney,” cautioned Mr. Wyatt. 
“ Remember you are a green hand.” 

“ I can do as much as Allan,” said Rodney con- 
fidently. “If anything, I’m the bigger.” 

Mr. Wyatt caught a peculiar glint in Allan’s eye and 
took occasion to speak to him aside. 

“ I would n’t make up more than two beds this morn- 
ing, Allan, if I were you.” 

Allan looked gloomily down. “ I can finish the 
whole thing, uncle, and more too. What’s the use 
of waiting?” Then, as his uncle did not answer, 
“What shall I do with the rest of the time?” 

“ Can’t you help Walter or the girls? ” 

“Yes, sir; certainly.” Allan’s face cleared. Help- 
ing Walter and the girls was altogether different from 
humoring Rodney. They were welcome to anything he 
could do. 

“I wish you liked Rodney better, Allan,” said Mr. 
Wyatt sadly as the boy turned away. 

“ Don’t ye fret; that’s cornin’ out all right,” Ilosea 
encouraged his employer. “I’m a-watchin’ of ’em.” 


74 


IN THE GARDEN. 


75 


“ I hope so,” rejoined the farmer. 

“Rodney’s shapin’ up first-rate. As for Allan, 
he ’s got a sort of feelin’ that his nose is out of joint ; 
that ’ll wear off in time, and ” — 

An inexpressible and complete change passed over 
Hosea’s entire personality. 

“Ain’t that George Bolton? Cornin’ to borrow 
su’thin’ ; I know by the way he walks. Mr. Wyatt, if 
you do lend him the vally of a crooked nail after him 
a-hirin’ your hayrick ’round the country till it was wore 
all out” — 

4 Pooh, pooh, Hosy ! ” 

“ Well, you may pooh, and you may paw, but if it 
was me” — Hosea disappeared into the stable, where 
he could overhear the conversation if so disposed, and 
began to whistle a tune in two different keys. 

“ Good-morning, George,” said Mr. Wyatt. “ How 
are all your folks to-day ? ” 

The boy, whose expression was sullen and furtive, 
looked up at the speaker almost frankly. “Pretty 
well, Mr. Wyatt. Father wants to know if you will 
lend him a plow.” 

“We are using both of ours just now, George. Do 
you know what your father wants done especially ? ” 
The boy replied, hesitating and as if by rote : “ It ’s 
the garden. Mother wants to plant some things right 
away.” 


76 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“ Well, your mother must have her garden.” Mr. 
Wyatt stood thinking. Hosea’s tune split into three 
keys, and was shrill enough for a scream. 

“ I intend driving across the creek this afternoon ; I 
will take the plow over and bring it back when I come. 
Why, yes — your father ’s very busy, I suppose?” 

George answered, “ Yes, sir,”" and looked down. He 
had the name of lying very glibly, but somehow it was 
hard work to lie to Mr. Wyatt, even when it was only 
repeating what he had been told. 

“ Tell him I can help him out that much. I ’ll plow 
the garden. This is my nephew, Rodney Ellis, George ; 
Rodney, this is George Bolton. He has been away 
since you came. Didn’t you like it at Leeds?” 

“No, sir ; they boss too much.” 

“That’s what all the youngsters think about us 
oldsters; don’t they, Rodney? But some one must 
do the driving. It will be your turn some day, and we 
hope you ’ll do it better.” 

Taking his cue from his uncle, Rodney shook hands 
cordially with young Bolton. “Allan told me that 
you knew all the best places in the creek for fish. I 
want you to take me on a tramp to find them some 
day, if you will.” 

“ Course I will.” The bov who began talking 
eagerly with Rodney was very different from the 
lad who came slouching through the barnyard gate. 


IN THE GARDEN. 


77 


He went away reluctantly after giving directions to 
u a licking good place up by the north bridge in case 
you want to go right away,” directions clear to him- 
self, but full of confusion to the city boy. 

“ Poor George ! he has a slim chance in life,” sighed 
Mr. Wyatt. u What are you looking for, Rodney?” 

“ My knife — the new one ; I left it here on the sill of 
the tool-room window when I went down to the house.” 

“I’ll tell you just exactly the pre-cise location of 
your knife,” said Hosea, leading out Polly and Jim 
ready harnessed for the field. “It’s a-walkin’ lei- 
surely up the road in George Bolton’s pants’ pocket.” 

“ Hosv,” said Mr. W} T att sternly, u you are too bad.” 

“Yes, I expect I am,” said Hosy, giving the as- 
tonished Polly a resounding slap. “ Git over there, 
will ye ? Only I see his hand on the window sill and 
afterwards slidin’ down towards his pocket, while he 
was watchin’ you sly like out of the corner of his eye. 
Git up, Jim ! ” 

And the wagon rattled off, carrying Hosea and the 
plow to an outlying field. 

Mr. Wyatt looked distressed. “ Don’t say anything 
about Hosea’s suspicions before the others ; at least 
not till we have made a thorough search.” 

Rodney assented and departed for the garden, 
which was the scene of happy tumult. It had been 
plowed some time before and certain of the earlier 


78 


GARRET GRAIN. 


vegetables were already showing in that portion re- 
served for the kitchen. All over the rest careered 
children, picking out favorable spots for this or that, 
dividing their little treasures of flower seeds, marking 
out beds, treading out paths. Even Harold was up to 
his elbows in a sunny corner, burying his seeds beyond 
hope of resurrection, or standing up to survey the 
work with absolute happiness beaming through the 
dirt on his face. 

At noon Rodney boasted that he had kept up with 
Allan. “Finished two beds and helped Madge with hers. 
Allan spaded one of mine while I raked his. How will 
those do for blisters?” proudly displaying his hands. 

“ First-rate,” laughed his uncle, sending to Allan a 
look that warmed the boy’s heart. Then addressing 
his wife he asked : “ Mother, can you go over east 
with me this afternoon? Mrs. Wilson has a sick baby 
and her husband has been gone a week.” 

“ Never means to come back, I fancy,” said Hosea. 
“ There ’s four other children ; the oldest ain’t much 
over eight.” 

“Mercy!” cried Aunt Emily, her ready sympathy 
aroused at once. “We’ll start right after dinner, 
Charley ; girls, I ’ll trust you to get supper. What is 
such a man made of? ” 

“ Mighty poor soil for garret grain,” said Hosea, 
winking at his employer. 


II V THE GARDEN. 


79 


Here Walter said “ Oh ! ” and laid down his knife 
to dig deep first in one pocket and then in the other. 
“There’s your new knife, Rodney. I met George 
Bolton up by the upper gate this morning and he said 
he picked it up in the road.” 

Hosea uttered a loud “ Hem ! ” 

“All right, Walter; he’s going to take me out 
fishing some day,” said Rodne} T , tossing a glance of 
gay defiance in Hosea’s direction. 

Dreading lest Hosea should voice his suspicions of 
the morning, Mr. Wyatt spoke quickly : “ Shall you 
mind the big wagon with a plow riding in behind, 
mother ? I promised to use one an hour or so across 
the creek.” 

“ No, indeed,” replied Aunt Emily cheerfully. 
“ With you to put me in and take me out, the wagon 
is n’t any scarecrow. Neither is the plow, unless you 
expect me to use it.” 

“ Guess your furrows, Mis’ Wyatt,” said Hosy, 
“would be like old Mr. Thomson’s down near Leeds. 
He used to say there wa’n’t but one other man in the 
country could drive a straight furrow like his’n, and 
he was cross-eyed.” 

Rodney stood watching his uncle and aunt drive 
away. “ Does everybody in the neighborhood that’s 
sick or poor or out of fix in any way send for Uncle 
Charley ? ” 


80 


GABBET GBAIJST. 


“ The heft of ’em does,” responded Hosea, swing- 
ing the big gate together. “ Talk about castin’ bread 
upon the waters ! he and she must have hove a ton 
since I ’ve been here — includin’, of course, meat and 
flour and sass, and goodness knows what all. That 
is n’t only part of what they ’re doin’ all the time. 
In harvest he’ll take help nobody else would bother 
with to give ’em a chance. Why, there wa’n’t a man 
’round would take me for my keep when I first 
come.” 

“Why, Hosy, you do lots,” said Rodney, surprised. 

“ Oh, well, you can go slow and yit git over con- 
sider’ble ground if you keep a-goin’. And it must be 
a man as mean as John Bolton who woiff do his best 
for Charles Wyatt. See here, if you go fishin’ with 
that coon, George, you’d best chain all your traps 
and small change together and buckle ’em ’round your 
waist. You hear me ? ” 

Rodney shook his head, laughing, and reentered the 
house in time to hear : — 

“ I ’ll cook the potatoes.” 

“ I’ll make some baking-powder biscuit.” 

“ I ’ll make the cake — I have found a recipe I want 
to try.” 

“ I hope Gertrude Virginia will wash her hands and 
clean her finger nails before she begins,” said Rodney, 
joining the council with great assurance. 


IN THE GARDEN. 


81 


Mabel and Madge promptly led him from the room 
by the ears. 

Coming into the kitchen two or three hours later, he 
found it deserted. Mabel’s cake was standing on the 
table to cool. 

Rodney had a weakness for fresh cake and the 
queens of the kitchen were nowhere to be seen. He 
cut out a dainty three-cornered gore, reaching to the 
very center, broke off a mouthful, and immediately 
opened his eyes and mouth with an expression of dis- 
pleased surprise. Then he fitted the gore neatly back 
and stole quietly away. 

Madge’s potatoes were boiling and Mabel was set- 
ting the table when Aunt Emily returned with a pitiful 
account of the destitution she had witnessed. 44 I 
must send some things over at once.” 

44 Send your cake, Mabel,” suggested Rodney. 

44 Indeed I shall not ! They need other things much 
more than cake. Rodney Ellis, you ’ve been cutting 
it ! ” as the piece fell out. 44 You dreadful boy ! O 
mamma, how queer it tastes ! ” 

“The Queen of Hearts 
She made some tarts,” 

sang Rodney at her elbow. 

44 Mv dear!” said her mother, “cream of tartar! 
how much did you put in?” 


82 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“Two tablespoonfuls. It was a new recipe in the 
paper.” 

“ Two tablespoonfuls , Mabel ! Never mind ; we have 
plenty without it. Think of those little Wilson chil- 
dren with only corn meal and potatoes, and not much 
of those.” 

“You forgot to tell me to keep an eye on these 
careless girls, Aunt Emily,” said Rodney, strutting 
about the kitchen with his thumbs in his vest pockets. 
“ Behold the result ! 

The Queen of Hearts 

She made some tarts — tarts ! ” 

he sang, following close at Mabel’s heels as she 
passed from the kitchen to the dining-room with her 
hands full. 

Mabel set the dishes down and sprang towards him, 
whereupon he fled into the hall and stumbled against 
Mr. Wyatt. 

“Here, young man,” said Uncle Charley, “ as }?ou 
don’t seem very well employed, suppose you jump 
into the buggy and take your aunt’s basket over to the 
Wilsons’. Can you drive old Fan? ” 

“Can I? Can I drive a sheep?” asked Rodney 
scornfully. 

“Did you ever try?” laughed his uncle ; and gave 
him some directions about the road. 


IN THE GABDEN. 


83 


Hosea waxed indignant when Fan and her driver 
returned. “ Jest look at her ! You’ve gone lickety- 
split every step. If I had my way, you should n’t 
drive nothin’ but a sawhorse and that a-straddle. 
Guess you forgot old Fan is nigh twenty-four years 
old. There ’s no garret grain in treatin’ a dumb beast 
that way. The Bible says ‘ a righteous man regardeth 
the life of his beast.’” 

“You folks get all your garret grain out of the 
Bible,” said Rodney crossly. It pricked his con- 
science to see old Fan stand with drooping head and 
trembling limbs. 

“That’s the granary, of course. Most of the 
world’s crop of good comes out ’n that. There ain’t 
much in you though, if you ’d drive a poor old horse 
to death. Clear out ! I don’t want to look at you.” 

Nothing incensed Hosea more than cruelty to 
animals. He would rather suffer himself any time 
than have his horses ill treated. One of his causes of 
complaint against Mr. Bolton was the latter’s neglect 
of his live stock. 

Another rainy day interfered with garden making. 
Rodney fumed and fretted ; he had become very 
enthusiastic over his new employment. The Wyatt 
children sought their beloved garret and settled down 
to indoor pleasures. Allan set about making a bow 
and arrows for Tommy Wilson. Walter fashioned a 


84 


GARRET GRAIN. 


game of jackstraws for the one next younger. Mabel 
and Trudie were crocheting. Madge had a headache, 
and sat most of the time with her dolls in her lap and 
her head resting on the little table. 

“ Some one has just driven up and father has gone 
to the stable with him,” Walter said, suspending his 
work to look out of the window. 

“Who? I don’t know. Oh, yes, I do too. It’s 
that man that talked of buying Nelly. I wonder if 
father will tell him about her running away with 
Rodney.” 

“You know he will,” said Allan, resuming the seat 
he had left to look over Walter’s shoulder. 

Unknown to his uncle and Hosea, Rodney had 
taken one of the younger horses out for a drive, and, 
owing partly to his inexperience, partly to an accident, 
he had a runaway which resulted in a broken carriage 
and harness, but no injury fortunately to either horse 
or driver. 

They heard him coming slowly up the stairs. “I 
don’t see,” he said fretfully, “ why Uncle Charley had to 
tell that fellow about Nelly’s taking that little run. He 
dropped from two hundred to one seventy like a shot.” 

“ Well,” said Allan as Rodney paused. 

“ Well ! what was the use of saying anything about 
it? She wasn’t hurt a particle; just as well worth 
two hundred to-day as she was last week.” 


IN THE GARDEN . 


85 


“ Not to him. He wants an absolutely safe horse 
for his wife to drive. Nelly always seemed so, but 
now she has run once she is more apt to do it again.” 

“ Pshaw, Allan ! She ’s as gentle as a sheep. 
Hosy says anything would have run with that broken 
whiffletree striking her heels ; most horses would have 
kicked everything to pieces. All uncle had to do was 
to keep still.” 

Allan lifted his steady gray eyes. u If you were 
paying a good price for an animal, would n't you want 
to be told the whole truth about it ? ” 

“ Oh, I suppose so,” said Rodney impatiently. 
“ Would you have told him?” 

“ I don’t know how strong the temptation would be. 
But I know uncle’s is the right way.” 

Rodney turned on his heel and marched to the other 
end of the garret. Noticing Madge’s uneasy position 
he hunted up a pillow and carried her, despite her 
protestations, to the hammock. 

“You can’t honestly say that isn’t more comfort- 
able. Shall I swing } T ou? no? Then, Trudie, read 
something real soothing and sleepy.” 

He sat down next to Mabel on the hummocky sofa, 
and when she was summoned downstairs in a little 
while stretched himself out on it. Walter and Allan 
presently responded to similar calls, and Trudie, seeing 
Madge apparently asleep, dropped her book with an 


86 


GARRET GRAIN. 


air of weariness and clasped her hands above her 
head. 

“You would have real pretty hair if it didn’t 
always look like a rat’s nest,” said Rodney lazily. 

Trudie colored and dropped her arms. She had 
forgotten his presence. 

“ One, two ; there’s just two buttons on that right 
boot, Gertrude Virginia.” 

Gertrude Virginia hastily drew her foot back under 
her chair. 

“And that old gown of Aunt Emily’s makes you 
look like a meal sack with a string tied around the 
middle of it.” 

“ Rodney,” said Trudie with dignity, “ I think you 
ought to go downstairs.” 

“If you’d stop writing poetry and make yourself 
tidy” — continued her merciless critic ; but Trudie was 
already descending the stairs. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


“ THEN APPEARED THE TARES ALSO.” 

HE spring melted into summer, and the beautiful 



summer days dawned and faded one by one. 
The zest with which Rodney threw himself into the 
work as well as the pleasure of the House Blessed 
surprised every one. A few days, indeed, he sulked 
and lazed ; fewer still he professed to be homesick, 
and wished himself back in the city ; but ever with 
him, as with the others, the garret grain sowed itself 
silently day by day and grew steadily towards a 
harvest. 

First of the ill weeds to disappear were deceit and 
profanity. Smoking he had determined to give up 
after his uncle’s first talk with him, and though he 
had smoked once or twice afterwards, provoking a 
covert sneer from Allan about his promise-keeping, 
he had really been more persevering than the latter 
believed. Naturally he was not a deceitful boy ; on 
the contrary, he was almost too outspoken and 
transparent. He had lied as thoughtlessly as he 
had taken Nelly out of the stable to drive when it 


87 


88 


GABBET GBAIN. 


suited his purpose, without a thought of wrong or the 
result. Constantly with those to whom truth in all 
things was as much a part of themselves as their 
breath, the wretched fungus growth soon shriveled 
and disappeared. His word was fast becoming as 
reliable as Allan’s own. 

It was Rodney now who left the garret as often as 
anybody if his quick temper or love of teasing dis- 
turbed its cheer. Almost as often as Walter or Allan 
it was Rodney who did errands for old Mrs. Wiggin, 
sat by her, nodding his curly head briskly to show his 
interest in her stories, or held the yarn she was inces- 
santly winding and knitting up. The dear old soul 
loved to have him with her; she called him “the 
bonnie boy,” and said he grew more and more like 
her youngest son, who had died years before. 

The improvement in Rodney gave him no more 
favor in Allan’s eyes. I am sorry Jo say it, but I 
believe Allan liked him better when his faults were 
more evident. The w r eed of jealousy had indeed struck 
long roots down deep into young Foster’s soul. Their 
relations appeared amicable enough, but Rodney knew 
as well as Allan himself how little real cordiality the 
latter felt. 

“ You don’t like me, Allan,” he said one day when 
the two happened to be alone in the garret. ‘ ‘ I 
wonder why ? ’ 


“ THEN APPEARED THE TARES ALSO” 89 

Allan flushed. “Who says I don’t?” he demanded. 

“ No one ; but I feel it all the same. You treat me 
civilly enough ; you ’ll lend me any of your things, or 
help me if I need it ; but I know all the time it ’s for 
Uncle Charley’s nephew — not for Rodney Ellis. It 
shows the garret grain in you too. If I felt towards a 
fellow as you do toward me, I could n’t treat him half 
decent. Yet I like you, Allan.” 

“ We ’re so different,” said Allan shortly. “ We’ve 
been brought up differently ; our circumstances are 
different. There is n’t anything alike in us or our 
lives, or ever likely to be, except in our being here.” 

“There aren’t any two things more unlike on the 
farm than Gerty and black-faced Nance, yet they ’re 
better friends than any other two animals on the 
place.” 

“Which of us is the black-faced sheep?” said 
Allan with an awkward attempt at a laugh. 

But Rodney, turning so that he could face him, — he 
was as usual in the hammock, and Allan on the sofa, 
— said with a peculiar earnestness : “ Some time, old 
fellow, you are going to do it, now you mind.” 

Allan felt relieved to hear Ilosy call him. He put 
his head out of the window and answered “ Halloo ! ” 

“ I wish you ’d come down and take Gerty back to 
pasture ; she’s here with the colt.” 

“How on earth did she get here?” Allan asked, 


90 


GARRET GRAIN. 


surprised ; for they were weaning the colt, and had 
confined Gerty in one of the farther fields. 

“Took three fences a-flyiny’ responded Hosea. 
“ Fifteen hundred pounds of her and a poke on. I 
never see anything slicker than the way she sailed 
over; and when she got into the barnyard, she lifted 
the hook as neat as fingers could ’a’ done it. You ’ll 
have to take her back to the north pasture. It ’s the 
only fence that ’ll hold her now.” 

A smart phaeton came down the road as Allan 
crossed it leading Gerty, and in the driver he recog- 
nized Judge White’s son. He nodded carelessly to 
Allan and drove on. 

It chanced to be a leisure moment with Hosea, who 
sat on the front steps reading a newspaper as the 
visitor reached the house. 

“Fasten my horse, will you?” said the latter, 
descending from his conveyance. 

Hosea looked him slowly over from head to foot, 
and then rising deliberately obeyed. 

“Take that to young Mr. Ellis,” was the next 
request. “That” was his card, engraved with “ J. 
Frederick White.” It was too much for Hosy. 

“ Oh, you can jest as well give it to him yourself — 
he ’ll be right down ; ” and ignoring the proffered bit 
of pasteboard he shouted at the top of his lungs : 
“Halloo, Rodney! here’s a fellow to see you.” 


“ THEN APPEARED THE TARES AL80, n 91 


Rodney, quite used to Hosea’s ways by this time, 
came hastily down from the garret. White introduced 
himself rather stiffly: “I was going to send my card 
up, but your uncle’s man did n’t seem to know what to 
do with it.” 

u Hosy? No, I presume not. I ’m glad to see you. 
Step this way, please.” 

Young White explained that his father and Mr. 
Ellis chanced to meet at some gathering of business 
men, and the former, learning of Rodney’s presence in 
the vicinity, suggested the call to his son. 

“ You must find it most awfully dull here,” said the 
visitor. 

“ Never had a better time in my life,” rejoined 
Rodney. 

His guest was faultlessly dressed, wore gloves and 
carried a cane. He had a rather pale face and very 
little animation of manner. Secretly Rodney felt half 
inclined to laugh as the youth talked about his “ gov- 
ernor” and Rodney’s “governor” and “ those other 

gilt-edged fellows who met at .” “Allan’s 

worth a baker’s dozen of him,” he thought. 

Aloud he said: “Have you ever met my cousin 
Allan Foster, Uncle Charley’s other nephew?” 

White’s stiffness increased. “ I did n’t understand 
that youug Foster was a relative of yours. I only 
know him by sight.” 


92 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“We are cousins by courtes} 7 ; he is really Aunt 
Emily’s nephew, and a capital fellow. Excuse me ; 
I ’ll call him.” 

Rodney found Allan in the stable. “Look here,” he 
began, “I want you to come in and see this White 
boy ; I ’m all talked out. Come along, Allan. Those 
gloves and that cane strike me dumb.” 

“How do you suppose they’ll strike me, then?” 
demanded Allan. “ Do I look like hobnobbing 
with such an outfit as that? No, no; I don’t want 
to go.” 

Rodney turned back disappointed. 

“ Allan,” said Mr. Wyatt gravely, “ I don’t think 
you are treating either Rodney or his guest politely.” 

“Uncle Charley, that fellow doesn’t care any more 
for me than the dirt under his feet.” 

“ You don’t know that. At least prove yourself 
a gentleman.” 

Without another word Allan laid down his curry- 
comb and brush and left the stable. He intended to 
go to the house, wasli his face and hands, and change 
his coat ; but Rodney and the visitor were on the porch 
and the latter was evidently taking his leave. Allan 
hesitated a moment, and then approached the two. 

“Here’s my cousin now,” said Rodney; and .Fred 
White held out his gloved hand. 

Allan declined it with an embarrassed smile. *« I 'm 


“ then appeared THE TABES ALSO.” 93 


not in a condition to shake hands/’ he said ; “been 
currying the horses.” 

“And the horses think no one does it so well as 
Allan,” said Rodney, laying his arm across young 
Foster’s shoulder. “ They just stick their noses over 
the manger and coax him to come and curry them.” 

“ I don’t suppose Mr. White knows as much about 
caring for horses even as you do,” said Allan. He 
was just in the mood when Rodney’s laughter jarred 
on him, and did not realize how brusquely he spoke. 

Fred went down the steps, Rodney accompanying 
him. 

“Let me unfasten your horse; you’ve got your 
gloves on. Shall I back him round for you? It’s a 
narrow place to turn. There ! all right. Much obliged 
to you for calling.” 

Allan stood stiffly by. He knew that in his condi- 
tion he should have done what Rodney was doing. 
He knew White thought so, but pride forbade his 
moving. • 

“ Come and see me,” said the visitor leaning out of 
the phaeton to address Rodney. He barely glanced at 
Allan ; the invitation was plainly not meant for him. 

“Isn’t that swell though?” said Rodney, returning 
to Allan’s side as White drove away. “ Think of those 
gloves, Allan ! Think of that cane ! Do you suppose 
you and I will ever get such a pompadour curve to our 


94 


GARRET GRAIN. 


wigs as that? I wish he knew how silly you made 
those old gloves look.” 

Allan turned his grave eyes on the laughing speaker. 
Never since Rodney’s coming had his heart softened 
towards him as it did at that moment. 

“ I used to imagine before you came,” he said, “ that 
you were going to be like Fred White.” 

“ You did ! ” said Rodney, springing at him with 
pretended ferocity. “ I ’ve a notion to put your head 
under the pump this minute.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


“ SOME FELL AMONG THORNS.” 

T"N the early part of September Rodney’s father 
came to see him. 

The children were inclined to regard the stout, 
handsome, keen-eyed gentleman with awe at first ; 
but, whatever his reputation on ’change, — it was that 
indeed of a shrewd, hard man, — the old homestead 
from which he had taken his wife exerted its influence 
on him as it did upon others. 

“ Uncle Stephen seems real pleasant,” said Madge 
in a garret conclave. “ I didn’t think a broker ever 
laughed so much.” 

“ But his laugh always goes in the same little 
grooves in his face,” said Trudie ; “just as if it were 
made to run there ; it ’s always the same laugh. 
Uncle Charley’s is new every time.” 

At first Mr. Ellis declared he must return in two 
days, but the two became four and the four a week, 
and yet he stayed. And as he stayed his manner 
changed. It was not so pointedly genial ; he did not 
laugh so often, but the children liked him better and 


95 


96 


GARRET GRAIN , . 


Trudie said that his eyes laughed sometimes like 
Rodney’s. 

“I thought forty-eight hours would be as long as 
I could stand it away from the city,” he said to Mr. 
Wyatt as they walked over the fields one day ; “ but 
the old place has its old charm. I thought I took most 
of it away when I took Rodney’s mother, but I left 
you, Charley, and the blessing.” 

He smiled at his companion as he spoke, a smile 
that would have astonished some of his intimates on 
’change. It was actually tender ; for he had deeply 
loved this man’s sister and the man himself had been 
the chosen companion of his boyhood and youth. 
She was dead ; years and the world had come between 
these two who loved her, but Stephen Ellis believed 
in no other human being as he believed in the man 
at his side. 

“You have turned pretty brown in the sun and 
wind, Charley,” he said, looking at him with eyes 
whose keenness was greatly softened, “ and don’t 
carry your head up quite as straight as you used to ; 
but when I hear your voice it seems like yesterday 
that we went fishing in the creek together.” 

Mr. Wyatt smiled. “ Life has certainly changed 
greatly for you, Stephen, since those days. Are you 
satisfied with what it has brought you ? ” 

“Why, yes; after a fashion. It’s better than 


“SOME FELL AMONG THOBNS .” 


97 


what most people get. Of course if Alice had lived, 
there would have been a difference ; but business has 
had to take her place with me, and I may say without 
vanity I have not made a failure of it.” 

“ You enjoy your work then? ” 

“ There ’s plenty of interest in it. It takes all 
one’s energies where there are so many trying to get 
ahead. You have to keep your wits sharpened and 
your eyes open ; and there is always satisfaction in 
coming out on top, especially if you ’ve had a narrow 
escape, as sometimes happens.” 

“ And the other fellows? ” said Mr. Wyatt. 

“ Oh, they go down,” said Mr. Ellis with what 
Trudie called his “ laugh in grooves.” 

“ Satisfied ? ” 

“Hardly. That’s not to be expected. But their 
turn may come ; it ’s up to-day and down to-morrow.” 

“ And does it really seem to you, Stephen, that 
life holds nothing better for you than that?” 

“You surely don’t think farming does. Our paths 
have divided far apart since the old days, Charley, but 
if I remember aright, you had no especial leaning towards 
agriculture. You were crazy over machinery. How 
did it happen that you settled down upon the farm?” 

“ There was no other way,” Mr. Wyatt answered 
quietly. “ Mother and the two younger children were 
left, and her heart was here.” 


98 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“Well, have you been perfectly content, old fel- 
low; satisfied with what life brought you? I take 
the liberty of handing back your own question. ” 

“There was a time,” his companion replied after 
a little silence, “ during the first few years, when the 
whir and throb of any great machine used to whir 
and throb through ray brain for days ; when the 
clatter of the mower as I drove it put me in mind 
of the endless bands and turning wheels and I felt 
as if I must be among them. Has it entirely died 
away? Well, no; I believe almost every life holds 
an unsatisfied longing that never quite dies out, 
though God may give us something better. You 
spoke of the blessing on the home, Stephen ; it has 
not failed. My life here has been a very happy one.” 

“ With your head just above water and the making 
of a first-class business man in you, or you never 
would have done so well as that — helping all creation 
and his wife — frankly, have you never wanted to 
be rich?” 

“You may find it hard to believe me when I say, 
very seldom. I have wished for a little more some- 
times ; never for great wealth.” 

“That’s all any of us want,” rejoined Mr. Ellis 
with grim humor; “only a little more, and a little 
more to that. But I believe you, Charlie ; you were 
always a contented sort of fellow.” 


“ SOME FELL AMONG THORNS” 99 

He wanted to go a-fishing. “By night, Charley, 
as we used to, with a brush fire on the bank.” 

So that Harold should be willing to retire at his 
usual bedtime and not feel defrauded, the girls took 
him with them in the afternoon, rigging up a small 
pole not too heavy for his chubby hands to hold ; 
and to the surprise of the others and to his own 
unbounded delight he did catch a fish, a small one, 
it is true, but an unmistakable fish. 

“ Why, my boy,” said Mr. Wyatt, taking him on 
his knee, “ think how badly the papa and mamma 
fish will feel to come home and find their baby gone.” 

“ Papa,” said Harold after an earnest gaze into 
his father’s smiling eyes, “we c-caught the whole 
f-family.” 

When dusk had fallen and the fireflies glittered in 
the bushes lining the creek bank Mr. Wyatt and his 
guest picked their way along the uneven path, stop- 
ping every now and then to say, “ Stephen, do you 
remember?” or “Charley, wasn’t it about here 
that,” etc. 

A light flashed out upon the water and turning 
round a point they came out upon a comparatively 
open space. Half as high as the trees leaped the 
flames from a pile of brush the boys had gone down 
half an hour before to build. The light illumined 
the water for many rods up and down and brought 


100 


GABBET GBAIN. 


out plainly the line of the opposite shore. Down by 
the edge of the creek and close together stood the 
three girls like statues. 

Not so Hosea, who bad waded out some distance 
and was perched upon a stone away down where the 
boundaries of light and shadow were ill defined. 
With his trowsers rolled up almost to his knees he 
spatted his bare flat feet about on the stone every few 
moments in a grotesque dance and presently broke 
out into song : — 

“ Wiggle, wiggle, polly-w-awg, 

Pretty soon you’ll be a fraw-wg.” 

“ Say, Hosy,” remonstrated Allan, who was acting 
as commander-in-chief of the expedition, “you’ll 
scare every fish within a mile. Can’t you keep still ? ” 

“ I will when I git a bite,” responded Hosea. 
“I’m a-charming of ’em. That’s the way folks used 
to do in old times.” And he began again : — 

“ Lit-tel fishes in the brook, 

Bub-by catch ’em with a hook.” 

“ You ’ll get the girls started and then we can’t do a 
thing,” admonished Allan. 

“ All three of us have n’t said as much out loud since 
we came down as you have just now,” retorted Mabel. 


“HOME FELL AMONG THORNS . 


101 


“Hold on! hold on! children,” interposed Hosy ; 
“ better sing than quarrel.” 

Whereupon Hosy lifted up his voice again, crouch- 
ing down upon his stone as he did so : — 

“ Sissy fry ’em in a pan” — 

Just then over he went with a splash and a yell 
that woke the echoes. But he was on his feet in a 
moment, holding tight with his dripping hands to the 
upper part of his broken pole, while the line was seen 
to stretch out taut and quivering away down into the 
darkness. 

“ You ’ve charmed a whale ! ” shouted Rodney. 

‘ 4 It ’s a cat, a big one ! Can you fetch him, Hosy ? ” 
cried Allan. 

“I reckon — if the harness holds,” said Hosy com- 
posedly wading towards the shore and towing his 
unwilling captive in the same direction. There was a 
struggle, but the “harness” was a stout one, and 
Hosea presently landed a seven-pound catfish. 

“Beats all how them fellers will pull,” said Hosy, 
examining his catch. “ I never felt him nibble, but 
he took me off my feet as clean as if he weighed a 
hundred pounds.” 

He started on a shambling run toward the house, 
the water dripping from him at every step. 

“ He is a queer fish himself,” laughed Mr. Ellis. 


102 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“ But good and honest to the core,” answered 
Hosea’s employer. 

Mabel’s line became entangled and Allan, setting 
his pole firmly in the soft earth, went down to free it. 
At the same moment Madge dangled a bare hook and 
Walter ran to bait it for her. 

“ Your young folks are very polite to each other,” 
said Mr. Ellis watching the boys approvingly. 

“We don’t call it politeness here, father,” said Rod- 
ney ; “we call it ‘ garret grain.’ ” 

Mr. Ellis turned toward him quickly. “ O-ho, you ’re 
getting hold of the old saying too, are you ? ” 

Mr. Ellis did not catch many fish, but he told the 
boys he had not had so merry an evening for a long 
while. 

Sunday came, one of the loveliest of Sabbath days. 

“ And no paper ! ” sighed the business man. “ How 
do you suppose I’m going to get through the day, 
Charley, without my Sunday paper? ” 

“ I have managed to spend over a thousand without 
one,” said Mr. Wyatt with twinkling eyes. 

“ Charley, Charley !” said Mr. Ellis, playfully shak- 
ing his arm. “ Charley ! Charley ! You!” 

He added after a pause : “ But I tell you, in these 
days, Sunday newspapers and Sunday trains are neces- 
sities to the business man.” 

“Ah, Steve, do you honestly think you would lack 


“ SOME FELL AMONG THORNS.” 


103 


for any comfort of existence if there were no Sunday 
papers ? ” 

“ Poh, Charley, pshaw ! You haven’t told me yet, 
how I ’m to spend the day without it.” 

u Go to church with us,” said Mr. Wyatt promptly. 
“ There will be men there who knew your father, who 
will be glad to shake hands with his son because he is 
his son.” 

‘ 4 Will they?” said Mr. Ellis skeptically. But he went. 

And the old men who remembered his parents, who 
remembered him as a boy among them, flattered by his 
hearty recognition of one and another, said to each 
other that Stephen Ellis’ money had not spoiled him. 

But the man himself, listening to the gospel message 
with outward attention, was in thought busy, busy, 
busy. It was not unpleasant sitting in the quiet 
church, his mind wandering from thoughts of the past 
to plans for future. No, his life was not quite what he 
would have it : he must make a change in it some day. 

After dinner, missing the children, he asked where 
they were. 

“ In the garret, I presume,” Mr. Wyatt answered. 
“Trudie usually reads to them a while Sabbath after- 
noons.” 

There was a commotion in the group around the 
south window when Mr. Ellis’ gold eyeglasses appeared 
above the opening. 


104 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“Go right on, Trudie,” he said, taking possession 
of the hammock. “ What are you reading? Pilgrim’s 
Progress? Yes, I read if, hut so long ago that it will 
be all new to me.” 

He lay back with his hands clasped under his head 
and looked around him. The old garret! He had 
played here with his wife and her brothers when they 
were all children together. At the top of the old 
chimney used to be — yes, there it was still — God Is 
Love. 

Many a time he had seen the sweet face of Alice — 
what a sweet face she had ! — peeping at him from 
behind that pile of boxes in the corner. Was it 
Charley’s laugh ringing through the garret ? His own ! 
Had he ever laughed like that? 

The garret was full of children. In their presence 
these other living ones, listening to the reader, grew 
strangely dim. There were Lou and Harry — the last 
dead long since on a southern battlefield ; there was 
Joseph, a missionary out on the frontiers ; there was 
Anna, now among the snows of Canada; there was 
Charley ; there was Alice ; there was Stephen Ellis — 
oh, how many Stephen Ellises there were, each so 
strangely unlike his namesake in the hammock ! 

“ The man with the muck rake,” read Trudie. 

Mr. Ellis raised his head a moment and looked at 
the unconscious reader, dropped it again and drew his 


“SOME FELL AMONG THORNS 


105 


handkerchief over his face. The children — the living 
children — thinking him asleep, stole softly down- 
stairs. The other children stayed. 

And all that afternoon in those faces of the living 
and the dead that smiled upon him from every nook 
and corner of the old garret there shone an invitation. 
The lips that laughed and whispered the merry words 
of old were calling, calling — from the greed of gold, 
the love of self, the cares of the world, the deceitful 
service of false masters — to the sowing and the harvest 
of the “garret grain.” 

Some one else came up into the garret, some one 
whose kind brown face was full of His peace w&o was 
“ Lord of the Sabbath day.” 

“ Well, Charley,” said Mr. Ellis, sitting up. “ No, 
I ’m not asleep — been dreaming though. What, sun- 
down ! Where has the day gone ? ” 

“ And no Sunday paper ! ” said his friend mischiev- 
ously. 

“Pooh, pooh!” Mr. Ellis put on his glasses and 
read aloud Trudie’s rhyme : — 

“ Do unto others as you would 
That they should do to you. 

Ah, that ’s good doctrine for the garret and the chil- 
dren, but you can’t make it work in the world — not 
in business anyway.” 


106 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“Have you given it a fair trial, Steve?” 

“Tut, tut, my boy! What are you insinuating? 
You have tried it, if any one ever did. Yet certainly, 
while in comfortable circumstances, your life — mind I 
don’t say it unkindly — is not a successful one, Char- 
ley, from a business point of view.” 

“ Probably not,” Mr. Wyatt answered quietly. 

“No, no, Charley, not successful.” He walked to 
the window and looked out ; returning laid his hand on 
his friend’s shoulder. “Not successful. I couldn’t 
live your life, Charley — don’t know that I want to; 
but I want my boy, for his mother’s sake, to have 
plent$ of this garret grain.” 


CHAPTER X. 


trudie’s last poem. 

R ODNEY was calling from the lower hall, “Allan, 
are you upstairs ? ” 

“ No, he is n’t,” replied an aggrieved voice. “ He 
has n’t been for a week, and I think it is too bad.” 

During the visit of Mr. Ellis, Mr. Wyatt and himself 
had decided to send the older boys to Bylands Acad- 
emy, a school they themselves had attended in their 
youth. 

Rodney strongly objected to going to school at all. 
He declared his intention of becoming a farmer and 
refused to see the necessity of “wasting” anymore 
time over books. But Allan influenced him in this 
as in many other things. He was so pleased with, and 
grateful for, the opportunity that Rodney soon ceased 
to grumble and began to plan for their new life. 

“ What are you making such a beaver of yourself 
for?” he demanded, bouncing into the woodshed and 
seizing Allan’s axe on its upward stroke. 

“ Look out ! ” said the latter sharply ; “ that is too 
keen to fool with.” 

Rodney seated himself on the sawhorse. “It’s 


107 


108 


GARRET GRAIN. 


jolly we’re going to Bylands together. Jolly all 
round!” as Allan did not reply; “board there 
through the week and come home over Sunday.” 

“ I like that” said Allan. “ I did n’t know whether 
3 t ou would or not.” 

“You did n’t? Don’t you suppose I know a good 
home and good times? There’s once in awhile I’d 
just like to pound you, Allan Foster! What are you 
working so for? You hardly take time to breathe 
or eat.” 

“ I want to do everything I can before we go,” said 
Allan, stopping to pile up the wood he had split. “ It 
will cost a good deal to send me to Bylands.” 

“That doesn’t trouble me. Folks expect to give 
their children an education.” 

“ It ’s very different with you. I have n’t any claim 
on uncle. Here — what are you doing? Get out with 
you ! ” 

For Rodney had pounced on him with a strangling 
hug and was dragging him out of the shed. “Let 
the old wood alone for the rest of the day. I ’ll 
sharpen up the other axe and help you to-morrow ; 
honest, I will. Let us row the girls down to the 
hills ; they ’ve been wanting to go for a week.” 

Allan was still stoutly resisting when Hosea came 
upon the scene. “Here, quit! None o’ that ’round 
this house ! ” And when he heard the explanation, 


TBUDIE'S LAST POEM. 


109 


“You go ’long, Allan. I’ll settle this log. Make a 
little sunshine for them long-faced girls lookin’ out of 
the window.” 

There was a touch of reproof in Hosy’s words that 
Allan felt he deserved. In his anxiety to finish a 
certain amount of work before beginning school he 
had been gruff to actual unkindness a dozen times in 
the past few days. lie offered no farther opposition, 
and, as he walked on with Rodney, wondered, as 
many a one has done before and since, why, when a 
fellow was trying hard to do his duty in one direction 
he was so apt to leave it undone in another. 

On the following day Mr. Wyatt took the boys to 
Bylands to make arrangements and choose their 
room. 

The village was some eighteen miles away — an 
hour’s ride on a railroad whose station was about three 
miles distant. For years the school had been a center 
of Christian influence and training. The village, 
though a railroad town, was free from the saloon 
curse and noted for the moral character and intelli- 
gence of its citizens. 

In a corner of the old brick dormitory, built nearly 
fifty years before, the boys chose their room. 

“And the sun shines in from the south,” Rodney 
told the girls, “ just as it shines in at the garret 
window upstairs.” 


no 


GARRET GRAIN. 


Allan proposed that they should see how far they 
could furnish their room with things from the garret 
and buy the rest with the money saved f^om their 
summer’s work. To this Rodney at once assented, 
though his merry face dropped at the last part. 

“ For I ’ve spent a lot of mine already,” he frankly 
acknowledged. “But I ’ll help out somehow.” 

The garret was a busy place for several days. 
Rodney and Allan sawed and hammered, pasted and 
glued with an enthusiasm which increased with each 
success. They were ably assisted by Walter, who 
was already more skillful with tools than either of 
them. The girls 'generously offered their cherished 
sofa and rocking-chair, but were met by an equally 
generous spirit, which, refusing to accept the sacrifice, 
volunteered repairs. Mabel and Madge made some 
pretty curtains, and Trudie, who fairly ached to paint 
them a poetical motto, hemmed towels instead. 

She shut herself in her room, remaining deaf to all 
entreaties for two hours or more on one of their 
busiest afternoons, and when she finally appeared 
among them had red eyes and an air of melancholy 
mystery. 

Rodney called her “Lady Bluestocking” and ad- 
vised her to wash the pencil marks off her nose. 

Trudie treated him with silent disdain and whispered 
to the girls to stay upstairs after he and Allan had 


TRTJD IE'S LAST POEM. 


Ill 


gone down. She extended the same invitation to 
Walter as he was following the boys. 

“It’s some new verses, Walter. Don’t you want 
to hear them? ” 

“ Well,” said Walter, wavering between two desires, 
“ if they ’re not too long.” 

Which in itself was of the nature of a wet blanket, 
coming from Walter, so long an ardent admirer of her 
poetic talent. Trudie gave him a look, ‘‘more in 
sorrow than in anger,” and began : — 

“ Our brothers dear are going ; 

They ’re going far away. 

How lonely will our garret be 
In one week from to-day 1 ” 

“Rodney ain’t anybody’s brother,” criticized Walter. 

“It’s just the same,” said Trudie, beginning to 
wish he had not been invited. “This is the chorus: 

They’re going, going, going I 
We count the hours now. 

They’re going, going, going; 

Our hearts in sorrow bow. 

We’ll miss our merry Rodney, 

Our Allan, grave and calm; 

We’ll miss them by the fireside, 

We’ll miss them on the farm.” 

Trudie read in a mournful voice, the tears dropping 
from the end of her nose. Madge buried her face in 


112 


GABBET GBAIN. 


her hands, Mabel sobbed, and even Walter felt a lump 
in his throat. 

“ They ’re going, going, going. 

We eount the hours now. 

They ’re going, going, going ; 

Our hearts in sorrow bow.” 

“Wow, wow, wow!” came a plaintive echo. The 
listeners started ; the absorbed poetess continued to 
weep and read : — 

“ Ah I think how sad and lonely 
Shall we sit here, we three — 

Of course Walter is four and Harold five,” ex- 
plained Trudie ; “but three is more poetical — 

Remembering our happy times, 

How gay we used to be ! 

They’re going, going, going! 

We count the hours now. 

They ’re going, going, going ! 

Our hearts in sorrow bow.” 

“Wow, wow, wow!” repeated the echo with so 
exact an imitation of Trudie’s mournful tones that 
the children screamed out laughing. 

“Rodney Ellis,” said Trudie, forgetting her poeti- 
cal plaint over his departure, “ I think you are the 
most hateful boy I ever saw ! ” 

“ And I think, Gertrude Virginia,” said the echo 


TRU DIE'S LAST POEM. 


113 


very plaintively indeed, “ that you ’d better go right 
straight downstairs.” 

u I wish you would move out of my way.” 

Angry and very tearful Trudie stood at the head of 
the stairway ; Rodney sat on the fourth step ; only his 
forehead and his brown eyes showed above the opening. 

He rose with a very polite bow and offered his hand 
to help her down. It was the last straw. Trudie 
boxed his ears, ran downstairs, and locked herself 
into her room, refusing to come out for supper. 

Allan took her part fiercely, and Mr Wyatt had 
a talk with Rodney, after which the latter apologized 
to the offended poetess and promised, if she wrote 
verses and read them the year round, he would never 
make fun of them again. 

But Trudie wrote no more poetry. 

At Bylands some of the out-of-town students 
boarded; others “ clubbed,” — appointed one of their 
number to buy provisions and hire a cook, — and 
others still brought provisions from home and did the 
little necessary cooking themselves in their own rooms. 
Board was to have been secured for the boys with 
an acquaintance of Mr. Wyatt’s, but Allan, learning 
that one could board more cheaply in the club, asked 
his uncle’s permission to do so ; and immediately 
Rodney determined to “club” likewise. 


114 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“We’re going together and we’re going to liang 
together right through; aren’t we, Allan?” 

And as usual to such expressions Allan made no 
reply. 

“ What in the name o’ sense does ail him? ” Hosea 
asked of his employer. “ I thought his nose would 
joint itself again in a bit, but it don’t seem to ; and 
Rodney as friendly as can be. Garret grain ’s struck 
good soil in him. I never was so mistook in a chap.” 

“ Allan has more to struggle against than Rodney 
has,” Mr. Wyatt answered. “ He inherits his moody 
nature just as Rodney inherits his sunny one. I tell 
you, Hosy, there is nothing more solemn or more 
mysterious to me than the tremendous help or hin- 
drance parents are to their children, even before their 
birth.” 

“ True enough,” said Hosy. “ Seed-sowing begins 
away back; don’t it? ‘From generation to genera- 
tion,’ that ’s the way the Lord himself puts it.” 

The boys came home every Friday night, returning 
to school on the following Monday. On their third 
visit Walter greeted them with the announcement 
that their uncle was going to sell Gerty. Allan at 
once went to Mr. Wyatt. 

“Why, uncle? Is it because you need the money 
for my schooling? Please don’t do it, then. I’d 
rather stay at home than have you sell her.” 


TRUDIES LAST POEM. 


115 


“ Not altogether for your schooling, Allan ; but we 
don’t really need Gerty, and I have been offered an 
excellent price for her.” 

“ I should think so ; the dear old thing ! ” 

Allan thought about the matter all day. In the 
evening he went to his uncle again. “I’ve been 
thinking, Uncle Charley, that I can save a dollar 
a week by boarding myself. Then I don’t really need 
a new suit ; the one I bought with my summer money 
is perfectly good. I shall not be over there in By- 
lands enough to need anything better.” 

“My boy, don’t you know that such a difference 
between your way of living and Rodney’s may occa- 
sion remark and often make things unpleasant for 
you? Such close economy is not really necessary. 
I want you to feel that I love to do things for you, 
just as I would for Walter.” 

“ I know it, uncle. You’ve done so much for us, 
for everybody ; you ’re always doing, Uncle Charley. 
I ’d like to help, and this is the only way I can just 
now. Please let me.” 

“ Try it if you will,” said his uncle after a pause; 
“ but if it gets too hard, you must not fail to tell me.” 

“ And you won’t sell Gerty? She ’s such a darling, 
and her colts are valuable too.” 

“We ’ll see, we ’ll see. What a wise long head my 
oldest son has ! ” 


116 


GAlillET (lit AIN. 


And the last four words made Allan happier than 
a hundred dollars would have done. 

“ It will be a regular picnic,” said Rodney when 
he heard of the plan. “You ’ll have to let me cook 
the eggs, Allan ; it ’s all I know how. Put in plenty 
of cookies, Mary.” 

“You!” said Allan; “you have nothing to do 
with it. It ’s an experiment of my own.” 

“Well, can’t I make an experiment of my own? 
Of course what we cook will fall below club average, 
but what Aunt Emily and Mary furnish is sure to be 
’way above ; and occasionally Mabel will make us a 
cake — a cream-of-tartar cake.” 

He dodged behind a door to escape Mabel’s on- 
slaught. 

“It is nonsense your doing anything of the kind,” 
said Allan impatiently; “and I’m tired of hearing 
Fred White say that you have to do everything I do.” 

“ I don’t care what White says ; why need you? ” 

“But I do. Why don’t you quit the club and 
board where he does ? They have good cooking 
there.” 

“Very well ; I will.” 

Rodney was both hurt and offended. He had gen- 
erously determined that there should be no difference 
between himself and his companion in their school 
appointments. Allan was evidently as determined not 


TB JJ DIE'S LAST POEM. 


117 


to accept even this indirect help from him. There 
was a coolness between the boys for some time. 
Allan’s pride prevented him from letting Rodney see 
how lonely it made him feel at first to have the latter 
start off to his meals without him or how secretly 
glad he was to see Rodney at each return. 


CHAPTER XI. 


“AM I MY BROTHER’S KEEPER?” 

T I 1HE boys found several acquaintances at Bylands, 
“L among whom was Fred White. 

He attached himself at once to Rodney. The 
merry, bright-faced youth with the prestige of his 
father’s wealth was a very desirable friend. Rodney 
really cared very little for White, but Fred offered him 
the sympathy and companionship Allan gave so grudg- 
ingly, and which were almost a necessity to a disposi- 
tion like Rodney’s. Fred came to their room fre- 
quently, often bringing one or more friends with him ; 
nor were they at all particular about the infringement 
of rules. 

Rodney learned readily ; the work that he could 
master in an hour or two might occupy Allan a whole 
evening. Besides Allan’s dislike of Fred White, the 
latter’s visits during study hours disturbed him and 
conflicted with his desire to obey rules. He stood it 
for a while and then spoke to Rodney : — 

“It’s your room as well as mine, of course, and 
they are your friends. It’s all right their coming 


118 


“AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER?" 119 


here at intermission, but in study hours it ’s against 
rules and bothers me to death besides. Will you 
speak to them or shall I? ” 

“Perhaps I’d better,” Rodney answered; “I’m 
afraid you won’t do it gracefully.” So when Fred 
next visited their room Rodney took occasion to 
say : — 

“ I like to have you visit us, White, but would you 
mind coming in after hours? You see, we are anxious 
to keep up to regulation notch. Any other time we ’ll 
be glad to see you.” 

“ That ’s not true,” Allan said briefly after Fred 
had gone out. 

“That we ’d be glad to see him? Well, it isn’t 
exactly. I don’t suppose I enjoy his coming much 
better than you do, but I didn’t want to hurt his 
feelings.” 

“No; but you might have left the last off. You 
said the other kiudly enough.” 

Rodney looked curiously at the speaker. “It’s 
easier for you to be true than kind, Allan ; it’s easier 
for me to be kind than true. Did you ever notice 
that? Why do you make yourself such a porcupine 
with White — quills all out? He’s not half a bad 
fellow.” 

“Perhaps not.” Allan went back to his books, 
but long afterwards he remembered that saying of 


120 


GABBET GBAIN. 


Rodney’s : “It’s easier for you to be true than kind, 
Allan ; it’s easier for me to be kind than true.” 

“Foster has things pretty much as he wants them 
in your room, does n’t he?” Fred White asked Rod- 
ney a day or two later. 

Rodney glanced up at him quickly. “Why, what 
makes you think that? ” 

“ Pooh ! I know lessons don’t bother you enough to 
have you so dreadfully particular about hours. I’ve 
often wondered you let him order you about the way 
he does.” 

“ But he doesn’t. He lets me severely alone most 
of the time.” 

“He doesn’t like you any too well, that’s plain. 
Yet you stay there with him.” 

“ Because I like Allan ; so would you if you knew 
him. He’s the most self-denying, self-sacrificing 
fellow you ever saw for any one he loves. To help 
his sister or Aunt Emily or Uncle Charley he ’d 
work his hands off — go on one meal a day or wear a 
blanket for clothes. He ’s a friend worth having ; 
and some day,” said Rodney positively, “he’s going 
to be mine.” 

Yet in half an hour he felt very doubtful. 

They were standing on the ground reserved for 
athletics. The ring on which the members of the 
athletic club walked or ran races was in the center of 


“A2£ I MY BROTHERS KEEPER? 


121 


the field, and here during one of the intermissions 
a number of students had been making trials of their 
speed. 

•‘Allan and I made the last mile to the depot in 
six minutes or less, Monday morning ; did n’t we, 
Allan?” said Rodney. 

“ If you started together, you ought to have got in 
at least a full minute ahead of him,” said Fred White. 

“ I have outwalked and outrun him both many a 
time,” spoke up Allan, nettled by the insinuation. 

“ Not very lately,” retorted Rodney, nettled in his 
turn . 

“Why not try it right here?” suggested some one 
else. “ Five rounds.” 

Allan threw off his coat and went instantly out to 
the track. Rodney hesitated slightly, tossed his on 
the grass, and sprang to Allan’s side. 

“One, two, three, go!” cried a self-appointed 
umpire ; and they started. 

Rodney had joined the athletic club immediately on 
his arrival. The self-denial Allan felt most keenly 
was that concerning this organization, for he was a 
well-built muscular lad, delighting in trials of strength 
and agility. But for the continued practice and ex- 
penses of the club he felt that he had neither time 
nor money. 

The first two rounds the runners finished easily, 


122 


GABBET GBAIN . 


keeping side by side every step. The third, Allan 
lost a little, but he regained his position by a spurt 
and even passed beyond Rodney. The more experi- 
enced on-lookers saw, however, that the latter’s prac- 
tice was telling. He seemed to be running with very 
little effort, while Allan’s breath was coming hard and 
the perspiration was starting on his face. 

“ Ten to one on Ellis ! ” cried Fred White. 

Allan heard, his fierce jealousy was roused to its 
hottest. The veins stood out on his forehead as they 
began the last round, but he passed the winning post 
a yard ahead. 

“ You never half tried this last round, Ellis,” cried 
Fred White angrily. “ You could have beaten him a 
third.” 

“Hush! Look at him,” said Rodney, springing 
forward, for Allan had fallen senseless on the grass. 

It was several days before Allan got over the strain 
he had put upo*i himself. Even then he did not 
realize that he had endangered his health by the des- 
perate efforts made so foolishly ; but he did realize 
that he owed his success to Rodney after all, and 
was manly enough to say so. 

“ I might have known better than to try it when I 
knew how much you had been practicing lately. It 
was generous in you.” 


“AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER ?” 123 


“ Don’t let us talk about it, old fellow. I would n’t 
have tried at all, only I thought you ’d be vexed if 
I refused. And you were in poor condition, Allan, 
anyway. Don’t you remember how you worked all 
day Saturday? Given the same practice and good 
shape, I would n’t stand a chance.” 

Rodney rapidly became a general favorite. His 
disposition was more pliable than Allan’s. He lacked 
the years of training that made the distinction be- 
tween right and wrong so clear to the other boy. 
Allan’s “No” meant “No,” nor did he hesitate 
to say it. He was not a Christian, but he had 
been too long under Christian influence not to rever- 
ence “ whatsoever things are honest, just, pure.” 
Rodney hated to say “No;” he did not want to 
be disobliging. He did not mean to do wrong, but 
he did enjoy fun and a good time. Allan shut himself 
up so much in himself that Rodney was thrown more 
and more upon the society of others, and he was unfor- 
tunate in the choice of some of his companions. 

As the weather grew cold and the days short the 
boys did not go home so often. One morning, during 
one of these longer intervals, they were startled by 
hearing a stentorian familiar voice shouting, “ Halloo, 
the house ! ” 

* Theirs was not the only door that flew open. The 


124 


GARRET GRAIN. 


shout brought almost all in the building out of their 
rooms ; and there in the lower hall stood Hosea, who 
had walked in and was gazing up the stairway with an 
anxious expression while he rested a large covered 
basket on the post. 

Rodney was halfway down the stairs with an an- 
swering shout of welcome before Allan started. The 
other doors closed with more or less interval, according 
to the curiosity or courtesy of their owners ; but the 
laughter and jocular expressions he caught on all 
sides made Allan’s face tingle. He wished Hosea 
would not talk so loud as they came upstairs together, 
he and Rodney carrying the basket. 

“Hefty, ain’t it?” said Hosea. “Guess Mis’ 
Wyatt thought Allan wanted to give a party. There ’s 
popcorn balls and candy the girls sent, and a lot of 
but’nut meats. Walter he cracked the nuts, and they 
was up garret all day yesterday, pickin’ out the meats 
and fussin’. I told ’em they ’d better let you do your 
own crackin’ ; ye needed the exercise.” 

Rodney was eager to pilot him over the buildings 
and grounds ; but Hosea declared he must have 
a “bite” first. 

“Got up so tremenjus early that my breakfast’s as 
fur away as last night’s supper.” 

“ I ’ll get you some dinner right away,” said Allan, 
starting up. 


“AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER ?" 125 


u He ’s going to dinner with me ; ain’t you, Hosy ?” 
interrupted Rodney. 

“Not to cast no reflections on your company nor 
your cooking, Allan,” said Hosy, winking solemnly as 
he patted Allan on the head, “guess I’ll go along 
with Rodney. I ’m holler clear to my boots.” 

At the thought of him among the young men at 
Rodney’s boarding place Allan felt his face on fire. 

“It is so crowded at Mrs. Ramsey’s and her room 
is so small,” said Rodney, cutting the Gordian knot in 
all unconsciousness, “that I don’t believe they could 
get another chair in to save them. I ’m going to take 
you to the hotel, Hosy. Let ’s all three go. Come, 
Allan.” 

And for a wonder Allan went. 

He thought as he walked down street that by right 
it should be Rodney who felt ashamed of their visitor. 
Nothing that had happened before — boarding himself, 
wearing his old clothes — had made him tingle so from 
head to foot as did the loud voice and awkward 
appearance of this old friend ; while Rodney, with 
Hosea’s arm linked in his, walked gayly on without 
a trace of anything but supreme enjoyment. 

Allan went down several pegs in his own estimation. 
It was a lesson in self-knowledge that stung him but 
di,d him good nevertheless. 

“ Seems to me Rodney ain’t looking so well as he 


126 


G ABB JET GBAIN. 


did,” Hosy said to Allan when they happened to be 
alone a few minutes. “ He ’s pale and his eyes look as 
if they stayed open too long. Is he out much nights ? ” 

“ Some,” Allan answered. 

“You looking after him any, Allan?” 

“I’m not his guardian. He ’s able to look after 
himself.” 

“There’s a feller it tells of in the Bible,” said 
Hosy, putting his right knee slowly over his left one, 
“ that said he was n’t his brother’s keeper. Do you 
mind what the Lord said to him ? ” 

“That’s got nothing to do with Rodney and me. 
Cain murdered his brother.” 

“Jest so. And I s’pose,” continued Ho3y reflect- 
ively, “if he’d stood off and see some one else do 
it without interfering, the Lord would n’t ’a’ marked 
him up, eh?” 

“It’s very likely that Rodney would listen to a 
fellow not a year older than himself; I can’t preach.” 

“ Say, you read the fust Epistle of John to-night to 
oblige me.” 

“ I have n’t come to it yet,” said Allan obstinately. 

“ ’T won’t hurt ye to skip. If the Samaritan had n’t 
gone across the street out ’n his way, he ’d never have 
picked up the man that was robbed.” 

Then Rodney joined them and they started on 
a tour of observation. 



HOSY ANI) THE BOYS. 




U AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER f” 129 


“ Well,” said Rodney, trying to laugh off the serious 
feeling that Allan’s look gave him, “ there is n’t any 
pledge around here to sign. I ’ll wait a day or two 
and meantime turn over a new leaf.” 

He made the attempt, kept study hours again, and 
was in his room by ten o’clock. But he was too popular 
a companion to be given up so easily. The pressure 
brought to bear upon him was constant and unceasing. 

Allan grew very anxious. He overheard two of the 
wilder set plan an excursion to Cordis Villa for one 
Friday evening. It was a questionable resort, and 
Allan made his mind up promptly that Friday evening 
should not find Rodney at Bylands if he could help it. 
It w r as not their week for going home, but he proposed 
that they should do so. 

“ Why, it was only yesterday, Allan, that you said 
yo» hardly expected to go even next week.” 

“Well, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t feel as if 
I could wait.” 

“There’ll be nobody to meet us, and we’ll have 
to foot it. Besides, I’m half promised to — to an 
engagement Friday night.” 

“ As you please. I ’ll go alone, then.” 

Rodney leaned over to pull his ear. “No, you 
won’t. If you ’re bent and determined on going, I ’ll 
go too. It ’s better fun at home than anywhere else ; 
eh, Allan?” 


CHAPTER XII. 


“the seep is the word.” 



ODNEY looked grave enough after their return 


-L v on the following Monday. The excursion had 
resulted most disastrously. Excited by the beer and 
possibly stronger spirits, 'purchased in a neighboring 
town, the lads conducted themselves so outrageously 
that three of their number were arrested, after a fight 
in which several were more or less injured. 

Nothing so disgraceful had occurred in the history 
of the academy for years. Tuesday in chapel the 
white-haired senior professor spoke to the assembled 
students with a solemnity and earnestness that left a 
deep impression on those who heard. The discipline 
at Bylands had not been severe ; the rules were not 
onerous. The whole aim of the institution was to 
cultivate a spirit of honor and manliness in its attend- 
ants, and it had been very successful. The present 
disgrace was felt almost like a personal grievance by 
many of the students. 

When the boys returned to their room they were 
both very silent. Allan went to work with redoubled 
zeal to make up for the half day’s absence, but 


130 


“ AM I MY BBOTHEIt'S KEEPEB?” 127 


“It’s been jest about as pleasant a day as I ever 
put in,” remarked Hosea when he was getting ready to 
return. “ Some fellers would n’t V cared to be seen 
round with such a greeny as I be, but you boys ain’t 
that sort.” 

“ Fiddlesticks, Hosv ! ” said Rodney, shaking hands 
very heartily. “You ’re part of home.” 

“Well, good-by. Don’t sow any wild oats, boys. 
Stick to garret grain.” 

“He does,” said Rodney, watching him out of sight. 
“ What a good fellow Hosy is, in spite of his queer 
ways ! ” 

“ He ’s a better fellow than I am — and so are you.” 

Rodney looked after the speaker, who was walking 
rapidly away, in astonishment. He could hardly 
believe his ears. 

He was again surprised when that evening Allan 
challenged him to a game of chess. “ Don’t you want 
to play?” the latter asked. 

“Of course; but I did n’t suppose you could leave 
those beloved books long enough for a game.” 

For three evenings they battled fiercely with the 
wooden soldiers, Allan exerting himself to be agree- 
able. The fourth Rodney did not come home from 
supper. It was after midnight when he did come, and 
his breath smelled of spirits. 

He complained of headache in the morning and did 


128 


GARRET GRAIN. 


not get up. When Allan came back from chapel he 
made him some toast, and while Rodney was languidly 
eating Allan asked : — 

“ Rodney, have you ever signed the pledge?” 

Rodney smiled a little confusedly. “We had 
nothing but a little beer, Allan, honor bright. Oh, 
it ’s not that that makes my head ache. I was out 
later than I meant to be. Jarrocks had a spread at 
his room.” 

“ Jarrocks 1 Rodney” — Allan paused. Surely 
Rodney knew as much of Jarrocks’ doubtful reputa- 
tion as he did. He returned to his first subject. “ I 
wish you ’d leave it alone — beer, wine, everything of 
the sort. It ’s the only safe way.” 

“ Why, what do you know about it? ” 

“More than I wish I did.” There was a curious 
whiteness about Allan’s mouth. “And you know 
what uncle thinks.” 

“Yes.” Rodney moved uneasily. “But father 
drinks wine whenever he wants to. He used to give 
me sips out of his glass. You don’t know how good 
it is, Allan.” 

“ Rodney, I — I love the taste of it.” 

Rodney turned towards him, startled. “ Have you 
ever signed the pledge?” 

“ Long ago.” That curious whiteness showed itself 
still about Allan’s mouth. 


“THE SEED IS THE WOBD” 


131 


Rodney was restless. He studied a little and then fell 
into a reverie with his book upside down ; then got 
up and walked the floor with his hands in his pockets, 
a very unusual gravity on his sunny face. At last he 
stopped before Allan. 

44 Do you know, if we had n’t gone home Friday, I 
should probably have been with that crowd ? ” 

Allan nodded. 

Rodney resumed his walk, coming back presently 
to the table. 

44 Have you got a pledge anywhere about you, an 
ironclad one with steel clasps and brass-headed nails ? 
Produce it ; I ’m ready.” 

44 1 can write you one in two minutes,” said Allan, 
dipping his pen in the inkstand. 

“Make it good and strong,” said Rodney, leaning 
both elbows on the table to watch him. 44 Write it 
big ; let ’s both sign it and tack it up on the wall as 
a warning to the first chap that says 4 beer ’ to either 
of us.” 

As he was tacking it up he laughed. 44 1 wonder 
why Gertrude Virginia hasn’t put something of this 
sort in rhyme and stuck it up on the chimney? Oh, I 
beg pardon,” for Allan’s eyes suddenly flashed. 

Regularly, for a long time, Rodney marched every 
fresh visitor that came to their room across to the 
pledge with “See that? Those are my sentiments. 


GARRET GRAIN. 


1 39 

J -OA 

Yju’d better put your name down likewise.” And 
he persuaded quite a number. 

“But he’ll never keep it himself a year,” thought 
Allan. 

Now that the imminent danger seemed past, Allan 
dropped back behind the old wall of prejudice and 
jealousy. 

Rodney wrote to his uncle : — 

Dear Uncle Charley , — We reached here about noon 
“ right side up with care.” The boys had paid a visit to 
our room aud we found things wrong side up without 
care. The bed had been taken down and things were 
piled on top of the wardrobe clear to the ceiling. It 
took a stepladder to reach the top layer. 

But I guess there won’t be anything more of that sort 
for a while. The same set went off' on a frolic Friday 
night and got into an awful scrape. If we had not been 
home Friday, I should most probably have been in the 
mess too ; for I have been going with that crowd some ; 
and — yes, with the beer. It gave me a scare, and when 
Professor Farwell talked to us in chapel Tuesday morn- 
ing that finished it. I ’ve cut the crowd and signed the 
pledge. Your nephew, 

Rodney. 

Mr. Wyatt’s response was brief : — 

My dear Rodney , — I am especially glad for the last 
sentence of your letter. But, my boy, if you try to 
keep either pledge or resolution in your own strength, 


“THE SEED IS THE WORD .' 


133 


alas and alas! Men fall by thousands leaning on that 
prop. I shall never feel safe about my boys till they 
stand on the rock Christ Jesus, and under the banner of 
the cross. May God help you, Rodney ! 

Affectionately yours, 

Uncle Charley. 

Rodney gave the letter to Allan without a word. 

Allan read it, curling his lip slightly. 

“Uncle Charley need have no fears for me,” he 
thought. 

He missed Rodney that evening, the first time since 
their return. Allan himself could not work more per- 
sistently and faithfully than Rodney had done. It 
was not late when he came into the room, and Allan, 
contrary to his usual custom, asked carelessly where 
he had been. 

“ To church.” 

“ To church ! so it is Wednesday night ; I forgot.” 
Allan was chagrined ; he often forgot lately when 
busy with his books, and Rodney never went unless 
he did. 

When he finished reading his chapter he noticed 
that Rodney kept his Bible open. He had lately read 
a chapter when Allan read his. Allan went to bed 
leaving him at the table, and after sleeping for some 
time he woke to find Rodney still sitting with the 
book open before him. 


134 


GARRET GRAIN. 


Since the earnest address of Professor Farwell 
there had been a deep and growing interest among the 
students. Extra services were being held ; too many 
of them, Allan thought impatiently. He went some- 
times, but he grudged the time. Rodney learned so 
easily there was nothing to prevent his going all he 
wanted to. Only it was rather queer that the more 
he went the more silent and cross he grew. 

Then suddenly he was his old, bright, merry, sunny 
self again, but with an indefinable change that Allan 
felt but could not put into words. He w r as as great 
a favorite as ever, yet not so easily influenced — more 
self-reliant, Allan thought. And now they made 
another visit home. 

“How’s your muskles, boys?” said Hosea, who 
met them at the depot. He drove two of Gertie’s 
colts prancing and dancing in a way that tried his 
own. 

“ Fair to middling,” responded Rodney ; “ want 
me to take the reins ? ” 

“ Not partickerly. You may if you want to, 
though. Don’t pull too hard on Frolic’s bit; her 
mouth ’s mighty tender. Mr. Wyatt wants a chop- 
ping bee in the woods to-morrer.” 

“All right. Guess I can swing an axe yet; can’t 
you, Allan? Steady there, Eve, steady ! steady ! ” 

“ That ’s right ; talk to ’em. Coaxing’s better ’n 


“THE SEED IS THE WORD.” 


135 


whipping for horses jest like it is for folks. If Frolic 
plunges out like that again, hit her a lick.” 

“Whew, Hosy ! Two sorts of advice inside of a 
dozen words.” 

“You have to whip sometimes — not so plaguey 
often. Moral swashing’s best for ordinary, but it’s 
jest as well to keep a rod in pickle. A little hullsome 
fear don’t hurt nobody, and there is a few animals 
and folks whose conscience jest covers their hides.” 

The House Blessed laughed out to them its silent 
welcome. How pleasant the home-coming always was ! 
Walter whooping and hurrahing at the big gate ready to 
swing it wide open ; Uncle Charley crying, “ Welcome 
home, boys ! ” and shaking hands heartily with each ; 
the hall door filled with the girls and Harold ; Aunt 
Emily and Mary in the kitchen getting something extra 
good for supper, and Grandma Wiggin with a clean 
cap on ready to walk out to the dining-room, leaning 
on the arm of one of the newcomers. 

And after supper a regular round among the quar- 
ters of the four-footed friends — nowadays with a 
lantern — to be greeted with whinny and low of pleas- 
ure. There were home happenings to be exchanged 
for school histories, and Harold sat up till nine o’clock, 
though he had to fight to keep his eyes open. 

The four axes rang out cheerily in the clear winter 
air. The minister’s woodpile was to be replenished ; 


136 


GARRET GRAIN. 


two widows on the outskirts of the village must have 
two loads apiece. Never was a man less inquisitive 
than Mr. Wyatt, but when woodpiles or barrels of 
flour were getting low in certain homes Hosea was quite 
sure to be knocking at the kitchen door with, “ Morning 
folks ; we ’re cutting down some trees and Mr. Wyatt 
thought you ’d like a little green wood to burn with your 
dry,” or “dry wood to help the green;” or “Mis’ 
Wyatt’s compliments, and this here flour ’s been turning 
out mighty good bread for her and she thought you ’d 
like to try some.” Sometimes the woodhouse filled 
itself in silence, or the flour set itself down on the 
step outside and waited for admittance. 

“How are the Boltons getting on this winter?” 
Rodney asked. 

“ Pretty fair,” responded Hosea, who was working at 
the same pile of blocks. “ The young ones has got new 
shoes all around and go to school reg’lar. Bolton ’s look- 
ing up quite a bit. What d’ye think he told the min- 
ister when he went there making his first call? ” Hosea 
lowered his voice a little ; he and Rodney were work- 
ing apart from the other two. “ Says he, 1 I’ve been 
a-living five year next to a better argyment for Chris- 
tianity than you ’ll ever get into your serment,’ says he.” 

“ He meant Uncle Charley?” 

“Course he meant Uncle Charley; did ye think he 
meant me? What d’ ye s’pose that fellow that lived in 


u THE SEED IS THE WORD .” 


137 


a tub of grease and went ’round hunting honest men 
with a lantern would ’a’ said if he ’d struck your uncle, 
hey?” 

“ You’ve got that story mixed, Hosy,” said Rodney 
unable to repress a laugh. “He lived in a tub in 
Greece — the country called Greece.” 

“ I don’t care where he lived. He was a lazy, dirty 
old scamp ; that ’s my opinion of him. Let ’s load 
up now.” 

Then Rodney was deputed to drive the wood to its 
destination, and guided Polly and Jim carefully among 
the trees and over the frozen ground. 

“This is good news of Rodney,” Mr. Wyatt said to 
his companion. “What! hasn’t he told you? Rod- 
ney has entered the Master’s service and will be 
received into the church to-morrow.” 

“And what of my oldest son?” he asked when 
there was no response to the information he had given. 

“I’m doing the best I can, sir,” Allan answered. 

“You can do nothing alone, Allan,” Mr. Wyatt 
said gravely. 

Allan was in a tumult of feeling. Rodney a 
Christian ! Rodney, who had just escaped being in 
that disgraceful affair at Cordis ! Rodney, who was 
not, who had not been — Allan was honest enough 
to make the change — half so careful of the rules 
as he ; who was not so truthful ; who thought more 


138 


GARRET GRAIN. 


of a good time than of anything else. He knew 
what his uncle’s great desire was for them both. 
Allan was no hypocrite ; he could not pretend to 
a change that he knew had not taken place ; but why, 
why had it come to Rodney instead of to himself? 

“ A funny Christian he ’ll make,” he could not help 
saying to Hosea when they chanced to be alone. 
“It isn’t a month since he was drinking beer and 
going with the roughest crowd in school ; and he ’d 
rather read a book than go to church any day.” 

“ Would n’t you, hey? ” said Hosy. 

Allan grew indignant. “I’ve never stayed home 
to read since I’ve been away.” 

“ He ’ll have plenty of battles to fight; there’s no 
doubt about that; but he’s getting on the armor — 
helmet of salvation, shield of faith. Look out, 
Allan, that you don’t get into the wTong sort.” 

“ The wrong sort? ” 

“ Self-righteousness. Even the sword of the Spirit 
gets its edge turned upon that.” 

Plainly there was no comfort to be got from Hosy. 

The weather changed suddenly. In the afternoon 
a storm of sleet drove the choppers back to the house. 
Allan “ fussed ” about the barn till he was nearly 
chilled through and then went to talk a while with 
Grandma Wiggin. She enjoyed his visit so much 
that the sulks left him and he mounted to the garret. 


“THE SEED IS THE WOBD” 


139 


The quilting frames were out in the middle of the 
floor with a comfortable upon them that, the girls were 
tying. Aunt Emily had discovered a lack of sufficient 
bed-covering among the Wilsons. Walter was helping, 
tying knots quite as deftly as the girls did and with 
more of a flourish. Harold threaded needles, and 
Rodney, installed in Trudie’s chair, read Hiawatha 
aloud. 

Hosea, seated as usual on the landing, nodded to 
Allan and hunched over to let him pass. Rodney 
had just finished “ The Famine.” 

“ How dreadful ! ” said Madge with a shiver. 
“Isn’t there some of it not quite so sad?” 

“It is wonderful!” said Gertrude, who had been 
listening with idle fingers for some moments. “You 
can fairly feel the hunger. Oh ! how grand it is to 
be able to write like that ! ” 

“How grand to keep real folks from freezing to 
death!” said practical Mabel, tying briskly; and the 
energy of her movements recalled the others to 
renewed action. 

“ Well, that there poetry, if it is poetry, don’t 
jingle none at the ends ; don’t sound as good as 
your ’n to me, Trudie,” said Hosy, embracing his knees 
with his long arms. “ I can al’ays get the hang of 
your verses, but that gets away with me ; likely 
because it ’s Injun.” 


140 


GARRET GRAIN. 


Trudie colored. “ Oh! there goes the yarn ! ” she 
cried. It rolled to Rodney’s feet and he brought it 
back to the frames. 

In passing the chimney he brushed against the 
rhyming Golden Rule, now very grimy. It fell, and 
Trudie sprang toward it. 

‘‘I’m glad. I ’ve wanted it down a long time, but 
the children would n’t let me. We ’ll tear it up now.” 

Rodney held it out of her reach. “Tear it up? 
Indeed you won’t, Gertrude Virginia ! It shall hang 
as long as there ’s a shred of it. Get me the 
hammer, Harold, please.” 

“ Ah, don’t, Rodney ! Ever since I began reading 
Longfellow I — Please let me have it.” 

“Keep your sacrilegious paws off, Gertrude V. 
Why, this is part of the garret grain.” 

Trudie went back to the comfortable, smiling but 
with a lump in her throat. The subject of poetry 
was a tender one yet. 

Allan watched Rodney curiously that afternoon. 
He was fairly bubbling over with fun and frolic. 
“ Going to join the church to-morrow and acting like 
a clown to-day ! ” 

Rodney noticed the grave gaze and it sobered him. 
He wondered if he had been “ carrying on ” too much 
in view of the step he intended taking on the morrow 
and privately questioned Hosea. 


“THE SEED IS THE WORD” 


141 


“ Well,” replied that worthy, “ I should say if any 
feller had a right to laugh and be happy, it’s the chap 
that ’s got a hold on everlastin’ joy. Don’t you fret, 
Rodney ; the Bible says, ‘ Rejoice in the Lord.’ ” 
Rodney had tried to speak to Allan concerning the 
change in himself for several days. He had never 
been troubled with diffidence in Allan’s presence, but 
on this subject he was actually tongue-tied. At last, 
that night before retiring, he managed to say: — 

“I suppose you think it strange, my joining the 
church ? ” 

“Oh, it’s all right,” Allan answered, “if you 
think vou ’re good enough.” 

A sudden tender smile flashed over Rodney’s face. 
“ That ’s just it,” he said simply ; “I know I ’m not.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


SOWING THE GRAIN IN BYLANDS. 

E sure those keen eyes of Allan watched Rodney 



narrowly now. Perhaps I ought not to say 
that he rejoiced if there were occasional stumbles — 
as there were ; but he was at least satisfied to think 
that these proved Rodney after all no better, in spite 
of his professions, than he was who had made none. 
Not that Rodney professed much ; Allan admitted 
that ; nor did Allan audibly reproach him ; that 
Rodney had not feared. 

When Allan disapproved of anything that he did 
he knew it, though Allan might not even look at him , 
he felt it through and through. He never tried to talk 
to Allan of his new hope and service ; he realized that 
at present it w r ould be useless. 

And Allan was obliged to admit to himself finally 
that there was a change in his companion as the 
months passed by and that it lasted longer than he 
expected. He felt an unwilling admiration when he 
heard Rodney steadily decline to participate in an} r 
questionable amusement, refuse even innocent ones 


142 


SOWING THE GRAIN IN BYLAXDS. 143 


when they conflicted with any duty, though lie did not 
always approve of the way it was done. 

“ Why does n’t he come out flat-footed and say the 
thing ’s wrong instead of dodging ’round it? ” 

These temptations did not come to Allan. You see, 
his were of an entirely different type. 

Their first year at Bylands ended and the second 
was well on its way when, as Allan was entering the 
dormitory hall one evening, he ran against a woman 
just coming out with a basket so heavy she could 
scarcely carry it. As he uttered a hasty apology Allan 
recognized the laundress who washed for several of the 
students, himself and Rodney included. He had never 
seen her at the dormitory before ; a lad of thirteen or 
fourteen came for the clothes and returned them. 

“Why, Mrs. Stewart, you’re surely not trying to 
carry those home yourself! Where’s Nelson?” 

“Didn’t you hear, Mr. Foster? Nelson got his 
leg broken down at the depot yesterday.” 

Her voice was quivering as she answered him. 
Allan gently took the basket from her. 

“No, I hadn’t heard. Poor little chap! I’ll go 
down and see him and carry these for you at the same 
time, Mrs. Stewart.” 

Mrs. Stewart murmured a feeble remonstrance. 
Allan saw that she was crying silently. He did not 
wonder. To go to the dormitory on such an errand, 


144 


GABBET GBAIN. 


though civilly treated by the students, was a trial for 
the quiet, shy woman he knew her to be. Besides 
Nelson and herself her family apparently numbered 
only a daughter, a cripple who added to the household 
resources by doing exquisite needlework. 

They were not in absolute need ; the home was neat 

and comfortable ; yet Allan wished as he sat and 

talked with them that they lived near the House 

Blessed ; they seemed so much alone. He knew the 

hundred little acts of neighborly kindness by which 

Aunt Emily would cheer and soothe them through this 

trouble of theirs. He could see Uncle Charley’s 

pleasant face looking in at the door with : “ Anything 

I can do for you to-day, Mrs. Stewart?” He could 

hear Hosy whistling all out of tune as he brought in 

% 

wood and water or split kindlings ; and this last Allan 
himself proceeded at once to do. 

Rodney, paying a visit to Fred White that evening, 
was surprised when a knock at the door was followed 
by the entrance of Allan. The old dislike between 
White and himself had never lessened. They met 
civilly enough, but avoided each other whenever 
possible. 

Allan declined an invitation to be seated. “No, 
thank you ! ” a dull red flaming up into his face. 
Coming to this room on this errand had tried Allan’s 
pride to its utmost. He hurried his explanation : 


SO WING THE Gli AIN IN BYLANDS. 145 


“ Perhaps you have heard that young Stewart broke 
his leg yesterday. His mother has no one to come 
after the clothes but herself, and it ’s not pleasant for 
a woman to go poking up and down the dormitory 
besides having to carry the things home afterwards. 
I told her I ’d do it for her while he was laid up, and 
I ’ve been asking the boys who employ her if they will 
bring the bundles to my room or leave them where 
I can get them easily. ” 

Rodney was at his side in a moment. “ Of course 
she mustn’t do it. We’ll take turns, Allan. She’s 
a widow, then ? ” 

“Worse than that.” White had an unpleasant 
fashion of always finding out the worst about people 
with whom he came in contact. The boys said it was 
because his father was a lawyer. u Her husband ’s in 
the penitentiary on a ten-year sentence. I ’ve been 
watching my things pretty close, but I guess she ’s 
all right.” 

“ This benevolent fad is new business for him, isn’t 
it?” Fred asked of Rodney when Allan had gone. 
“He doesn’t look like the Quixotic kind.” 

“ He can be Quixotic or anything else if he thinks 
it’s duty,” Rodney answered. “I tell you, White, 
you don’t know Allan.” 

“ I don’t want to,” returned Fred with a peculiar 
emphasis. 


146 


GAB BET GBAIN. 


For six weeks Allan performed his self-imposed 
task. He bore the jests on his transportation busi- 
ness good-humoredly, the few sneers in silence. Once 
a lackadaisical young fellow named Morrison, White’s 
roommate, drawled: “They say the washerwoman’s 
daughter watches for Foster every Monday night. Is 
she pretty, Foster?” 

Allan turned on him like flame. “That’s con- 
temptible ! ” And he heard nothing further of the 
kind. 

Rodney eagerly offered to help him, but Allan 
rejected the offer almost ungraciously. 

“ You can find plenty of things to do. This 
is something that does n’t take money. Leave it 
to me.” 

It stung him to see Rodney carrying fruit and 
books to the injured boy and often flowers to the 
crippled girl. Allan felt that he had only his time and 
strength that were his own to give. He was trying 
hard to make a certain very modest sum cover his 
expenses. 

Mr. Wyatt frequently remonstrated: “There is 
no need for such rigid economy, Allan. Give your- 
self a little leeway. I don’t want you to grow 
stingy.” 

And Allan would invariably answer: “When I’m 
earning my own money, uncle, I don’t intend to be ; 


SOWING THE GBAIN IN BYLANDS. 147 

but I cost you too much as it is to spend your money 
needlessly.” 

Most of the students were thoughtful enough to 
leave the bundles for Mrs. Stewart at Allan’s room. 
Several, however, among whom were White and Mor- 
rison, either forgot or purposely neglected it, and 
Allan was obliged to make a collecting tour. 

“My door’s open,” Morrison said, meeting him in 
the hall on one of these expeditions; “go in and 
help yourself.” 

It was dusk ; but the dim light enabled Allan to see 
what he sought in a distant corner. As he stooped 
to pick it up he saw a book lying on the chair near 
and picked it up also, under the impression that 
it was one he had been carrying around with him. 
Returning to his own room still in the dusk he tossed 
the book into an open table drawer and started on 
his mission. 

He remembered afterwards that very evening ad- 
miring the work Jenny Stewart was engaged upon — 
a silk muffler she was embroidering for a Mrs. Gilbert, 
aunt to Fred White, who intented it as a gift to her 
nephew. 

The next evening Rodney came in, laughing. 

“ Morrison ’s in such a stew. One of his sweet- 
hearts sent him an illustrated copy of The Lady of 
the Lake, and he can’t find hide nor hair of it.” 


148 


GABBET GBAIN. 


Allan listened absently. He was just at that moment 
more interested in a theorem than in all Morrison’s 
affairs. An exclamation from Rodney, who had been 
rummaging the table in search of his pencil, roused 
him more effectually: — 

“Why, what on earth! Here’s Morrison’s book, 
Allan, ’way back here in the drawer. How did it get 
here?” 

“Well, that is queer ! ” Allan gazed blankly at the 
recovered volume. “Why, I must have picked that 
up for my Cmsar last night. I thought I had it when 
I went into his room and picked up a book from one 
of the chairs. Is the Caesar on the table?” 

“No,” said Rodney, looking hastily over their col- 
lection. “ I ’d better take it right back and calm his 
perturbed spirit.” 

“Foster was the thief, Morrison,” said Rodney, 
returning the volume. “I found this tucked away 
back in our table drawer ; ” and giving Allan’s ex- 
planation, he went back to his room quite unconscious 
of having said a word that could injure his friend in 
any way. 

When Nelson Stewart had entirely recovered and 
was making his customary weekly trips to the dor- 
mitory he brought Allan a note from his mother, 
asking him to call for a few minutes if he could spare 
the time. 


SOWING THE GRAIN IN BYLANDS. 149 


When he rose to leave after a brief visit, mutually 
pleasant to both the helped and the helper, for the 
whole family were earnestly grateful, Mrs. Stewart 
pressed upon his acceptance an embroidered muffler 
exactly like the one Jenny had made for Mrs. Gilbert. 

“There’s little value to it but the work, Mr. 
Foster, and Jenny enjoyed doing that. You thought 
the other so pretty it put her in mind to do this. It’s 
a very little remembrance after your kindness to us. 
Only,” she spoke in a lower tone, that her children 
might not hear, “ I *d like for you not to say where 
it came from ; ” the color came into her face. “ You 
know, Mr. Foster, young men joke about such things 
among themselves ; and folks situated like us have 
to be careful.” 

Remembering Morrison’s sneer Allan felt that the 
caution was not misplaced. He told them no one 
should even see it. 

“ Till I show it to Aunt Emily and the girls at 
home, Miss Jenny. I expect they will try to borrow 
it, but I shall be very selfish. It is such a beauty.” 

It was less than a week afterward when Rodney 
came in with the gay announcement that Number 
Fifteen was in an uproar again. Number Fifteen was 
the room occupied by White and Morrison. 

“Aren’t they the greatest fellows to lose things? 
This time it’s the muffler Fred’s aunt gave him. 


150 


GABBET GBAIN. 


Look in the table drawer, Allan. See if you’ve 
picked that up by mistake.” 

An anxious look came into Allan's face ; he thought 
of his gift and was disturbed. Even then his only 
care was to keep Mrs. Stewart’s confidence, as ‘she 
had requested. He had half a mind to show the 
muffler to Rodney, knowing the secret would be safe 
with him and fearing he might see it accidentally and 
speak of it before being warned. But while he was 
hesitating Rodney went out again. 

Allan opened his trunk and spread the gift out 
upon the table. What a beautiful thing it was ! and 
how exact a reproduction of the one Fred White 
mourned ! He smiled as he thought of Mabel’s and 
Trudie’s exclamations and his lamp began flaming 
gymnastics ; he had forgotten to fill it. He blew 
it hastily out and carried it across the hall to a 
neighbor’s room to refill. 

He had left the door open and when he returned 
with the lighted lamp there stood Morrison in the 
middle of the floor. 

“ I wondered what had become of you ; you ’re 
such a fixture,” he said. “Where’s Ellis?” 

“ He went to the library; I expect him back every 
moment. Won’t you sit down?” 

“ No, thanks ; I ’ll not wait. Why, halloo! here’s 
White’s muffler,” 


SOWING THE GRAIN IN BYLANDS. 151 


“Excuse me; it’s mine.” Allan took it abruptly 
from him, calling himself all sorts of hard names for 
this carelessness. “White has one like it, I believe.” 

“ Had.” 

Allan flushed under the curious look Morrison gave 
him. It said as plain as words could say what Allan 
knew : that such an article was entirely out of keeping 
with his very plain attire. Even then he did not 
imagine that it meant anything more. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A STRANGE HARVEST. 


HE Bylands Academy Baseball Association 



-*■ were having an exciting meeting. The ques- 
tion under discussion was a challenge sent by the 
freshmen of Ansa University to play them a game 
on the Ansa diamond two weeks from the coming 
Saturday. 

Ansa University was about fifty miles away. By- 
lands was a sort of a preparatory department to the 
larger institution ; the relations between the two 
were very cordial and these friendly contests of yearly 
occurrence. 

The challenge was accepted, the meeting adjourned, 
and President Rodney Ellis, the chosen captain, after 
settling some minor details with the committee of 
arrangements, started to cross the campus to the 
dormitory. 

He was joined by White and Morrison, who drew 
him aside under a group of trees. 

“Ellis,” said the former, “I want to speak to 
you ; ” and when they were out of hearing of the 


152 


A STRANGE HARVEST. 


153 


other groups of students he continued: “Haven’t 
you noticed something suspicious about your chum? 
on your honor now ? ” 

Rodney stared at him. “ Suspicious ! Allan ! 
Suspicious! What are you driving at?” 

“You’d better talk lower. I’ll keep it as still as 
I can, because he ’s a connection of your people. 
Don’t you remember bringing back Morrison’s book 
and saying you found it tucked away back in Foster’s 
drawer ? ” 

“ Where he keeps his Caesar, which he supposed this 
was ; I explained that to Morrison. Are you out of 
your head, White?” 

“There is such a likeness between that book and 
an old, worn Caesar ! ” interjected Morrison. 

“I don’t know as there’s any use mincing the 
matter,” said White doggedly. “ The case is just 
this. I have lost that handsome silk muffler that my 
aunt gave me. Morrison saw it on the table in your 
room and says Foster claimed it as his. What do 
you say to that?” 

“Say! I say that Morrison saw double — saw the 
muffler’s ghost — yes, I ’ll even say that he lied before 
I believe any such yarn. Allan Foster ! Why don’t 
you tell me to my face that I stole your muffler? 
You ’ve lost your wits, both of you.” 

“ I haven’t lost my eyesight,” said Morrison, “ and 


154 


GARRET GRAIN. 


if I ever saw anything in my life, I saw Fred’s 
muffler on your table. Why, I had it in my hands, 
when Foster coolly took it from me, saying it was 
his. He dresses so well, you know ! He ’d be so 
likely to buy a thing like that ! He turned forty colors 
when he made that statement.” 

“Or so likely to steal it!” Rodney stepped back 
and faced them both. “Neither of you fellows like 
Foster ; you never have. Now I tell you fairly and 
squarely if you’re fixing this up to bother him, you’ll 
have me to fight as well.” 

“I want nothing but what belongs to me,” said 
Fred White sullenly. “From the start I told you I 
wanted things kept still out of regard for your 
uncle’s family and you. If Foster will give up my 
muffler without any fuss, it will be all right ; but he ’d 
better leave before he tries the game on some one 
that won’t be as merciful as Morrison or I, hardly as 
you think of us.” 

“The thing is so absurd and impossible,” said 
Rodney, gazing from one to the other, “ that I don’t 
know what to say or think except that you are utterly 
and entirely wrong. Why in the world should you 
pitch on Allan with such a charge?” 

“Because the muffler has been seen in his posses- 
sion ; because there was that other suspicious per- 
formance about Morrison’s book ; and — and another 


A STRANGE HARVEST. 


155 


reason, never mind about that now ; I promised my 
father to keep still.” 

4 4 Where are you going ? ” asked Rodney as the two 
turned to leave him. 

44 To your room.” 

44 If you find your muffler there or anything that 
looks like it,” said Rodney, striding along at his side, 
“ I T1 give you my head. I only hope Allan won’t 
break yours.” 

The room was empty when they reached it. 4 ‘He 
put the muffler in that trunk,” said Morrison, indicat- 
ing it. White involuntarily bent as if to open it ; 
Rodney threw himself between. 44 Keep your hands 
off, please ! ” 

Allan came in, his books under his arm, and in 
an unusual state of satisfaction. The professor of 
mathematics had complimented him highly on his 
work for the term. 

“Allan,” said Rodney before the others could 
speak, “ these gentlemen are so badly stirred up by 
the loss of Mr. White’s muffler that they see its ghost 
on other folks’ tables. I hope you ’ll try to be pa- 
tient with them. They are only a little crazy.” He 
stood with his arm across Allan’s shoulders facing the 
accusers defiantly. 

“The long and short of it, Foster,” said Fred 
White, “is this: Morrison says he saw my silk 


156 


GARRET GRAIN. 


muffler on your table last night and that you claimed 
it as yours.” 

“ Morrison did see a silk muffler on my table last 
night,” Allan answered calmly ; “but he is mistaken 
about its being yours. It is very like yours, exactly 
like; it in fact, but it happens to be mine.” 

It was on the tip of Rodney’s tongue to cry, “ Why, 
where did you get it?” He remembered himself in 
time and said triumphantly as if Allan’s explanation 
had solved every mystery, “There!” 

“Hadn’t you better be unscrewing your head?” 
Morrison asked in an aside. 

“ Will you be good enough,” White said with elabo- 
rate politeness, “ to show me yours?” 

Allan took a step towards his trunk and paused. 
“I would rather not,” he said. 

“ Is it really so much like mine?” asked Fred, turn- 
ing suddenly to Rodney. 

Rodney blurted out, “ I have n’t seen it,” and was 
furious that he had spoken at all. 

“ Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling where you got 
yours.” The politeness was all gone now ; the sneer 
was unmistakable. 

It roused Allan. “ I do mind and I don’t see what 
right you have to ask. I know nothing about your 
muffler. This is mine, and can’t concern you in any 
way.” 


A STRANGE HARVEST. 


157 


“You shall have the chance to prove it yours — in 
court. If you remember, this is not the first suspicious 
article found in your room. Ellis himself told us 
he found Morrison’s book hidden away back in your 
drawer.” 

“ And I wish I had bitten my tongue through before 
trying to joke with such a thick-skulled, suspicious 
idiot ! ” shouted Rodney, fairly beside himself at the 
twist given to his innocent phrase. “Allan, you’ll 
believe me when I tell you I said it in jest,” turning 
imploringly to his friend. “ The mistake,” facing the 
accusers again, “ was all explained to you.” 

“ I did not suppose you would be so outrageously 
impolite to an old friend, Ellis” — began White in 
an aggrieved tone. 

“ Did you suppose,” interrupted Rodney, “ that I’d 
listen to your mean suspicions of the fellow that ’s 
been like a brother to me for two years? Why, the 
two of you are n’t worth his little finger ! ” 

“ Do you know the stamp of fellow you ’re so 
brotherly with?” demanded White, angry in his turn. 
“He’s no right to be with the sons of respectable 
people. His father was a drunkard and a thief, and 
was killed while resisting the officers sent to capture 
him.” 

The blow had fallen. In all his shrinking thought 
of the time when he might have to face the world’s 


158 


GARRET GRAIN. 


knowledge — Rodney’s knowledge — of his wretched 
inheritance, Allan had never imagined its coming like 
this. It seemed as if breath and life were stricken 
from the lad. He stood like a stone. 

Rodney’s eyes, on fire with scorn, held Fred White’s 
steadily ; the pressure of his arm on Allan’s shoulder 
was almost pain. 

White continued as if in justification of himself : 
“ The officer who shot him told father all about it, and 
he knew the children were taken away off somewhere 
in the country. It was easy enough to trace them, 
but nobody out here knew, and we meant to keep still 
for Mr. Wyatt’s sake. If Foster had been perfectly 
square — if he’d even given up the muffler, I should 
never have said a word. No one need know it outside 
of this room now.” 

The sun broke through drifting clouds and dropped 
slanting squares of light at Allan’s feet as he had so 
often seen them on the garret floor at home. To 
the stricken lad came a thought of the old garret — of 
the House Blessed. As in death agony sometimes the 
whole life memory flies before the passing soul, so in 
this moment of bitterness he saw his life as it was — 
as it might have been. Through a full knowledge of 
the burden he must ever bear shone the merc} T that had 
saved him from its worst results. Oh, blessed, golden 
“ garret grain” ! 


A STRANGE HARVEST. 


159 


It brought his courage back and the touch of Rod- 
ney’s loyal arm gave added strength. He lifted up his 
head and stood forth before the three. 

“ What you have said,” addressing Fred White, 
“ of my father is true. I leave you, any of you, to 
decide how far you ought to judge me because of my 
father’s sin. For my own life, since I came to Uncle 
Wyatt’s” — his voice trembled here — “ I can appeal 
to any one who knows me. If you bring this matter 
into court, as you have threatened, I suppose I shall 
be obliged to answer the questions you have asked me. 
I ’ll not do it before. I can only give you my word of 
honor that the muffler is mine honestly and that I know 
nothing at all of yours.” 

He sat down, for his strength gave way. Rodney 
left his side, took three steps across to the door, and 
opened it. 

“Will you two gentlemen have the kindness to 
vacate? And you will please not recognize me here- 
after. I ’m trying to be a Christian,” said Rodney, 
with an almost ludicrously sudden recollection of the 
fact, “but if you do, I know I shall forget it long 
enough to flatten you out.” 

“ You ’ve forgotten it pretty thoroughly already,” 
retorted White as the door closed behind them. 

“ What are you going to do next?” Morrison asked 
when they had reached their own room. 


160 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“There isn’t anything I can do,” returned White 
gloomily, “ and I ’m afraid I ’ve made a mess of it as it 
is. I thought your seeing the thing would make him 
give it up on the spot. The judge won’t thank me for 
setting the Wyatts against him. Mr. Wyatt has more 
influence than any other five men in the district. 
What possessed me to blurt that out about Foster’s 
father? It made me angry clear through though to 
hear Ellis stand up for him when I knew just what 
he was. Did you suppose Ellis would go on so? 
Foster would have weakened, I know, if it had not 
been for Ellis. There was no reason to him.” 

“ I can understand doing it for some people,” re- 
turned Morrison; “but not for a glum fellow like 
Foster, with such a pedigree too. ‘There must either 
be an immense mistake or he ’s got monumental cheek. 
I did see the muffler — that I ’ll swear to. But Ellis 
is true blue after all, blue blood. I wish he had n’t 
quarreled with us.” 

“So do I. Bother the muffler ! ” 

“ And bother the muffler say I. Suppose we try to 
talk it over with Ellis again by himself.” 

“And get flattened out?” 

“Oh, he’ll be over the worst of his fit by to-mor- 
row,” laughed Morrison. 

Rodney was hanging over Allan with a lump in his 
throat and tears in his eyes, fairly overwhelmed with 


A STRANGE HARVEST. 


161 


a desire to say or do something that should comfort 
and at the same time make his confidence more evi- 
dent. With all his effort lie could find nothing better 
than, “Let’s us go home for over Sunday, Allan; 
let ’s start now. It will do us both good to see the 
House Blessed.” 

“ Not this week,” said Allan. He was still leaning 
his head on his hand, but he spoke in quite his usual 
tone. “You need all day Saturday for practice if 
you play the match. Whitney told me you had 
decided to accept.” 

“So we have. Who cares? Not I for one ball 
game nor twenty. Time enough for that. Do let us 
go home, Allan.” 

Allan shook his head. “ Would you mind leaving 
me alone a little while?” he asked. 

Rodney, not daring to trust his voice, patted him 
affectionately on the shoulder and went hastily out. 


CHAPTER XV. 


BEARING PRECIOUS SEED. 

A ND now it was Rodney wlio watched Allan, 
watched with an admiration that was almost 
awe, when he saw him take up his work and move 
about among his companions as usual. 

“I should cut and run, I know I should,” he con- 
fessed to himself. u I never could stand it in the 
world, even if I were as innocent as Allan himself ; ” 
for Rodney’s loyalty never wavered, though Allan had 
not yet explained to him the mystery of the muffler. 

In spite of his last angry injunction Vy'hite and 
Morrison did take occasion to speak to him at the 
first opportunity, with so much of evident liking for 
himself and anxiety to excuse their own action that 
although Rodney did not abate an atom of his cham- 
pionship or think less severely of their suspicions, 
he was obliged to confess that he had been rather 
“ hot.” 

u We were always good friends, Ellis,” said White. 
“ However vexed you were for your chum, it seems 
as if you might have had a little thought for me. I 
like you the better for standing by him, though I still 


BEABING PBECIOUS SEED. 


163 


think you ’re mistaken in the man. We may have 
made a mistake too, though I don’t see how that ’s 
possible. However, what I want to say is, that if 
there are n’t any more — no more ” — 

u Appropriations,” suggested Morrison as Fred 
hesitated. 

u Yes; he needn’t fear any revelations from us. 
There ’s my hand on it.” 

“ And mine. You ’re a trump, Ellis,” said Morri- 
son, offering his. 

Rodney accepted the offered hands reluctlantly. 
He would have refused, vexed at the insinuations in 
White’s speech, but his reason told him he could serve 
Allau’s cause best by not irritating them any further. 

“I must say frankly,” he answered, “that I can 
hardly forgive you for still suspecting Allan, or for 
the cruel thing you- did, White, in throwing up to him 
something he could no more help than you could. 
But, as you say, we were always on fair terms, and 
can at least be civil ; I can’t promise anything more 
till you ’re willing to own yourself entirely wrong 
about Allan.” 

“ I will with pleasure when I find I am,” said White. 

What puzzled Rodney most was Allan’s peculiar 
treatment of himself. 

u He need n’t talk if he does n’t feel like it ; I don’t 
suppose he does feel like it ; but why does he watch 


164 


GARRET GRAIN. 


me with a face like an owl’s when he thinks I don’t 
see him ? ” 

He did not realize that one of the bitterest things 
in Allan’s cup at this time was the remembrance of 
his persistent misjudgment and jealousy of Rodney. 
When he compared it with Rodney’s generous loyalty 
the contrast made him cringe. 

“I want you to help him, Allan. Uncontrol, idle- 
ness, bad company — they sow bad seeds. We must 
root them out with garret grain.” 

Garret grain ! Why, lie had actually grudged shar- 
ing it with this boy whose right to it, whose use of it, 
was so much better than his own. False to his uncle’s 
confidence, unworthy the traditions of the House 
Blessed ! The pressure of Rodney’s arm, the clasp of 
Rodney’s hand in that moment of trial had broken 
down forever one barrier between them ; # the knowl- 
edge of his own injustice raised another high and wide 
that kept him dumb. 

He went home the week following, but he went 
alone ; Rodney was busy practicing with his nine. 
It was the first time, and Allan missed him every 
moment of his stay. 

“Allan, you look sick,” Aunt Emily said; and 
she dosed him with boneset tea. 

Hosea watched the wry faces Allan made over it 
quizzically. “Bitter enough, hey? But I’ll bet it 


BEABING PBECIOUS SEED. 


165 


don’t go to the right spot. There ain’t no gangway 
that I ever heard on between a feller’s throat and 
his soul.” 

He gave Allan a very deliberate wink. “Ain’t 
mueh the matter with a chap physic’ly when he can 
yank a barrel of salt ’round like you did this morning ; 
but you do look as if you ’d been through a knothole. 
What ’s that racket outside ? ” 

They hurried out to see. Polly and Jim were the 
only occupants of the barnyard and both stood with 
their noses poked inside the granary door. 

“I vow I never left that open ! ” said Hosea, as the 
two horses, finding themselves observed, trotted away 
and stood demurely gazing over the opposite fence. 
“ Drefful still all of a sudden in there. Why, you 
old gray trollop ! ” 

For looking sideways at them through the bars of 
an empty crib was Gerty. She had unhooked the 
door and made her way in ; but once in, retreat 
seemed impossible, for the crib was too narrow for 
her to turn around and the bend at the door made an 
equal objection to backing her. 

On finding herself discovered the great creature, 
that had kept perfectly still when she heard them 
approaching, began pottering back and forth in her 
narrow prison, casting at them sly glances of detected 
guilt. 


166 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“ Ain’t slie the tormenteclest thing?” said Hosea, 
surveying her with mingled disgust and admiration. 
“How did you get in there, you old elephant? And 
now you’re in, how’s a body to get you out? Got 
to knock the end off the corncrib for all I see.” 

But he squeezed past her with many warnings 
not to tread on his toes, and taking hold of her poke 
urged her gently backwards step by step till her loins 
were opposite the door. Then Allan, disregarding 
possible kicks, lifted the great hind feet one after the 
other, turning her by degrees through the door, which 
she was just able to squeeze through. Gerty sub- 
mitted patiently as if she fully realized the difficulty 
of the operation. 

When she was safely backed outside, Hosea, still 
holding the poke, delivered a short address: “You 
ain’t the first critter that ’s got into a tight place 
out of curiosity ; and I ’spect you won’t be the last. 
Going to do it again, hey? First time I don’t spring 
the padlock, I reckon. Get out with you ! ” 

He gave her a playful slap and Gerty, kicking up 
her great heels to show what she could do if she tried, 
galloped off to join her companions. 

Then, as if nothing had interrupted their conver- 
sation, Hosea turned with, “ Have you been through 
a knothole, Allan? It’s liullsome for a feller to 
try a knothole occasionally,” snapping the padlock 


BEARING PRECIOUS SEED . 


167 


in the hasp; “gets his own measure — sort of sizes 
him up, as it were. It’s like skinning alive, though, 
to be drawee!.” 

But Allan was walking towards the barnyard gate 
with his head down. 

“ I’ll bet,” 'said Hosy sotto voce , “ that he ’s been 
d rawed.” 

Allan’s despondency melted somewhat in the sun- 
shine of the House Blessed. It did him good to frolic 
with Harold, to help Walter in his studies, to he 
called upon by Aunt Emily and the girls, consulted 
by his uncle. 

“ Boneset is a good medicine ; you are better 
already,” said Aunt Emily, seeing him rise panting 
from a scuffle with five antagonists who were trying 
to hold him down on the grass. 

“There ain’t nothing the matter with him that 
boneset ’ll touch,” muttered Hosea. He was no be- 
liever in boneset, but he always took it when Mrs. 
Wyatt advised, on the principle that it w T as part of 
the service due the household. “ He ’s been into 
some scrape or other.” 

If Allan had chosen to confide in Hosea, wild 
horses could not have drawn a word of the confidence 
from him. He was ashamed of the sentence as soon 
as uttered, but he felt quite “huffy” over Allan’s 
absolute silence after the vigorous hints he had given. 


168 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“Him and me ’s always been such good friends; 
I could talk to him like a Dutch uncle,” thought 
Hosy ; and he had a confidence to give in return. 

Hosy’s words remained with Mrs. Wyatt, rousing 
a fear that had slept for years. 

“ Charley,” she said to her husband when they were 
alone, “ do you suppose that any of his dreadful 
father’s traits will show themselves in Allan at this 
late day ? ” 

“ Heredity is a queer thing, Emmie ; there ’s no 
telling ; but I don’t believe they will.” 

“ Hosy thinks the reason he is so unlike himself 
is because he has been getting into trouble.” 

“ Hosy is all ‘out’ because Allan won’t talk; but 
he is always more silent than Rodney, especially when 
he is tired or does n’t feel well. You know we ’ve 
had the best accounts of both boys, and I ’m sure 
Allan has n’t seemed weighed down by any sense 
of guilt this afternoon.” 

“No; but — Oh, dear! poor Ruth ! Such things 
do lie in abeyance for years and then suddenly 
appear.” 

“We’ve done our best, Emmie; the rest is the 
Lord’s. Somehow I have no fear ; but I ’ll have a 
talk with Allan before he goes back.” 

I have said that Allan’s despondency lightened ; yet 
on the peaceful Sabbath afternoon as he sat by the 


BEARING PRECIOUS SEED . 


169 


garret window while Trudie read aloud “The Prince 
of David’s House ” the shadow settled heavily again 
in thinking of the morrow. He must go back and 
face it all. 

Mr. Wyatt’s face appeared above the opening, and 
Harold, crying, “There’s papa!” headed a vigorous 
onslaught. They were all about him at once with 
cries of “Sit here by me, father!” “O uncle, sit 
here where we can all get ’round you ! ” 

Then Harold sat on his lap, Mabel and Trudie drew 
up their chairs on either side ; Madge and Walter 
leaned against each knee. Mr. Wyatt, smiling, held 
out his hand to his nephew. “ Come too, Allan ; or 
are you too big to be one of the children ? ” 

“No, sir, never,” said Allan with a sudden break 
in his voice. He drew his chair up behind Trudie’s 
and clasped his uncle’s hand — the kind brown hand. 

“We’re half through, father,” said Mabel when 
Trudie had finished the chapter, “and it’s beautiful. 
It makes Jesus seem so real.” 

“ Why, Jesus always seems real to me,” said 
Madge, petting her father’s knee. “Doesn’t he to 
you, papa?” 

“ Always.” 

How firmly he said it, how sure he was ! How 
peaceful and content the expression of his sun- 
browned face ! Allan sighed. 


170 


GABBET GBAIN. 


Mr. Wyatt heard him. “ Suppose you all run 
downstairs for a while and leave Allan and me to 
have a little talk. I want to ask him how many times 
he has been whipped this term, and he may not want 
to tell me with so many ears about.” 

“Pshaw! He’s as tall as you and heavier. 
They ’d have their hands full trying to whip him,” 
said Walter, following the others, who were gayly 
flocking towards the stairs. Harold ran back when 
halfway down to cry: “ P-papa shall I g-get you a 
switch? ” 

“Bolton has been sober for six months, Allan,” 
said Mr. Wyatt breaking the silence that ensued. 

“ Has he? That ’s good so far as it goes.” 

“You haven’t much faith in his ultimate reforma- 
tion, I see. Neither has Hosy. He is intending to 
go farther west. Says he can never be or do any- 
thing here where everybody is down upon them.” 

“He can never get away from being his father’s 
son.” 

The bitterness in the tone was a revelation to Mr. 
Wyatt. “No; God help him, poor fellow! Yet it 
need not spoil his life, Allan.” 

“It will go far to do it. No matter how hard he 
tries to rise, there will be those standing ready to beat 
him down because he is John Bolton’s boy — ready to 
believe him a rascal because his father was one. The 


BEARING PRECIOUS SEED. 


171 


sins of the fathers visited on the children — it ’s true 
and it ’s cruel.” 

‘ 4 It is true, and it does seem cruel. The saddest, 
darkest mystery in all God’s mysterious Providence is 
that for every broken law the innocent must suffer 
with the guilty. Some day, perhaps, we shall know 
why.” 

“ That does n’t make it any easier now.” 

“And that’s true, too. There is nothing that will 
make it any easier till we lay it on the Burden-bearer. 
You ’ll find him some day, Allan, I don’t know where 
or how, but I pray that it may be soon. And when 
that time comes, though these things may be no 
clearer, you will trust even through the darkness, for 
he will show you that God is love.” 

Longer they talked lovingly together, and left the 
garret as the shadows deepened, the one stronger to 
face the duty before him, the other abiding in the 
Master’s peace. For garret grain bears fruit in its 
sowing as in its final harvest. 

“ Well we — you and W alter and I — have the chores 
to attend to to-night,” said Mr. Wyatt. “ Hosy wants 
to go away.” 

And presently Hosea appeared in all his Sunday 
best, perfumed to that extent that the atmosphere 
bore evidence of him for some time after he had 
passed. 


172 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“Pooh! ” said Mary Brown, turning up her nose; 
“I bet he’s going courting.” 

When Hosea first came to the House Blessed he 
had made awkward advances to Mary. He presented 
her with a pair of shoes that caught his fancy on a 
bargain counter, but which affected Mary differently. 

“Mercy me! What are you getting shoes for me 
for, Hosy Bannister? Sevens! and wide enough for 
an elephant ! Go ’long ! I don’t want you nor your 
shoes neither.” 

To Mrs. Wyatt she remarked aside : “ Hosy ’s good 
enough, but if I ever do marry I want a man that has n’t 
got so many corners to his arms and legs — keep me 
patching all the time. And think of them shoes ! ” 

“Which horse shall I take, Mr. Wyatt?” asked 
Hosy, his extreme consciousness pervading the air as 
did the perfumery. 

“Any one, Hosy — two, if you think you’ll need 
them.” 

“Oh, now Mr. Wyatt! There! I ought to have 
harnessed before I put on my go-to-meetings,” looking 
down anxiously at his dark blue continuations. 

“ I ’ll harness for you, Hosy,” said Allan, seizing 
his hat. 

“ I ’ll be much obliged to you, I ’m sure, Mr. 
Foster,” returned Hosy with dignity. “ Maybe I can 
do you a good turn of the same sort some day.” 


BEARING PRECIOUS SEED. 


173 


“Where are you g -going, Hosy?” cried Harold; 
but was immediately checked by his father. 

Ilosea was evidently desirous that Allan should ask 
the same question. He followed the youth out to the 
stable, talked of its being “quite a bit” — meaning 
his ride — wondered with a chuckle how many horses 
Mr. Wyatt thought it took to pull two ordinary sized 
folks on a good road, and when the questions were 
not asked voluntered some information : “ We ’re going 
to church at B . She ’s a perfessor.” 

“ What of ? ” Allan asked mischievously. 

“Oh, go ’long with you!” said Hosy, taking the 
reins with a jerk. 

“ I did not suppose there was a young woman in 
the country,” said Mr. Wyatt as the prospective beau 
drove away leaving the air odorous behind him, “ who 
would go with Hosy. He would make some one an 
excellent husband though, if she loved him well 
enough not to mind his peculiarities. Pride of one 
kind or another is often stronger than affection. We 
are even afraid to let our friends see how we love 
them.” 

“ Yes, sir, ’’Allan answered sadly. He was thinking 
of Rodney. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE BARRIERS DOWN. 


HEN he and his uncle were talking in the 



garret Allan had resolved to confess his past 


jealousy to Rodney, show his appreciation of the 
latter’s confidence, and if Rodney still cared for his 
friendship, it should be his in unstinted measure. 

He expected Rodney would have a thousand ques- 
tions to ask concerning the House Blessed and its 
dwellers ; that he would be interested to hear of the 
Boltons ; that they would have a good-natured laugh 
together over Hosy’s courtship. But Rodney was so 
busy with the arrangements for the ball match that 
Allan saw very little of him except at study hours or 
in class and became more tongue-tied than ever. 

He made one desperate attempt to break through 
the crust by taking out the muffler one evening and 
tossing it on the table. “ Rodney, I ’ve been wanting 
to tell you about this — where I got it and ” — 

A knock at the door interrupted him. Allan opened 
it and faced Fred White. The meeting was embar- 


THE BARRIERS DOWN. 


175 


4 ? 

rassing to both, but after an instant Allan asked the 
visitor if he would come in. 

“ A minute, if you please.” He stood before Allan 
red and confused. “I merely want to say that in 
straightening up my room to-day I found my muffler 
fallen behind the shelf. I — I beg your pardon, 
Foster.” 

“Allan’s just been showing me his. They’re 
twin brothers,” said Rodney with an attempt at 
gayety. 

White held out his hand nervously ; Allan drew 
back from him a step, his face hardening. 

“ Oh, well, as you please,” said Fred, turning 
hastily away. 

“ You might at least have spoken to him,” said 
Rodney gravely when the door was again closed. 

“ What for? to tell him some polite lie?” 

“ No ; to make it easier for him to do right another 
time. He ’s as proud as you are. I wonder he pulled 
himself together to come here at all, though it was the 
least he could do under the circumstances. It was 
abominable the way he treated you ; but a fellow can’t 
do more than say he ’s sorry.” 

“ Stand up for him all yon choose. There ’s nothing 
easier in the world than to forgive another person’s 
injuries.” And Allan tossed the muffler back into the 
trunk. 


176 


GABBET GBAIN. 


\ 

He had silenced Rodney and himself as well ; the 
constraint between them remained. 

Friday afternoon the chosen nine left for the scene 
of action. Castell, the seat of Ansa University, was 
on another line of railroad, the nearest station eight 
miles away. The Bylands band wagon, a conveyance 
holding twenty or more, was engaged to carry the nine 
to the depot. The game was to be played early on 
Saturday to admit of an early return. 

The whole school, faculty and all, were on the 
campus to see them start. First came the band wagon 
drawn by four horses, carrying the band in their uni- 
forms and the nine in theirs ; then quite a line of 
vehicles filled with students and villagers. Tbe band 
played vigorously ; the goers and stayers cheered each 
other with all the force of their lungs, uniting in one 
grand three-times-three for Bylands. Then the pro- 
cession trotted out of sight. 

Allan woke Saturday morning with a sense of 
impending trouble. He took a long walk after break- 
fast, hoping to get rid of the depression, then filled 
his table with books and sat down to work. The 
dormitory was so much stiller than usual that every 
time a door slammed it made him jump. He kept at 
his work until noon and after dinner went to the 
reading room. 

A good deal of low-toned talking went on around 


THE BARRIERS DOWN. 


177 


him, tacitly ignored by the librarian, who recognized 
a paramount subject of interest. 

“What is the latest on the bulletin?” he asked of 
the group nearest him. 

“ Six to four at 1.30.” 

“Who ’s which?” 

“ Bylands forever ! ” cried one enthusiast in a stage 
whisper. 

“ They have n’t a catcher in the whole ‘ dip’” (By- 
lands slang for the department) “ equal to Morrison, 
and Herbert can match heels with any of them.” 
This from one well acquainted with the athletes of 
the University. 

“Why, halloo, White!” greeted another; “I 
supposed you had gone to Ansa to yell for your 
chum.” 

“ I should have gone if I had been able to hold my 
head up ; but I was n’t,” answered White, who was 
pale and hollow-eyed. He suffered occasionally from 
severe sick headache, and one had attacked him the 
previous day. 

“It was the worst disappointment I’ve had this 
year,” he continued gloomily. “I’d give ten dollars 
to be there this minute.” 

“You and Morrison hang together pretty well,” 
said the first speaker. “He’s got too many airs to 
suit me.” 


178 


GARRET GRAIN . 


“His airs don’t prevent his being a friend worth 
having,” replied Fred sharply. “A fellow that’ll 
stand by you the way he does is a better chum than 
most folks make. Anything new on the bulletin?” 

And the talk returned to the all-absorbing topic. 
Fred’s words echoed themselves in Allan’s mind: “A 
fellow that ’ll stand by you the way he does is a better 
chum than most folks make.” 

“And I,” he thought, “haven’t so much as said 
‘ Thank you ! ’ to Rodney. What if he never comes 
back ! ” He called himself a granny and fell to work 
more resolutely than ever. 

At four p.m. the telegram announced a victory for 
Captain Ellis and liis men. The students shouted 
themselves hoarse, the Academy bell was rung, the 
stars and stripes flung out from the flagstaff, and the 
band came upon the campus playing, “ See ! the Con- 
quering Hero Comes.” 

The conquering heroes were expected to reach the 
depot about nine that evening, and arrangements were 
at once made to send over a deputation to meet them. 
The deputation, headed as before by the band wagon, 
had been gone some time when Allan, whose uneasy 
spirit had sent him on another long walk, arrived 
opposite the office of The Bylands Banner. On such 
extreme occasions the Banner set out a bulletin board 
and was lavish in its use of the telegraph. A man had 


THE BABBIE BS DOWN. 


179 


just cleaned off the baseball score and was beginning 
to write. Allan idly crossed the street to see. 

The man had already written : — 

FATAL ACCIDENT! 

Then Allan read one after the other of the words 
that followed, feeling that he had known they were 
coming all day — yes, all his life: — 

TRAIN 27 ON C. & X. R. R. 

COLLIDES WITH FREIGHT 40 

SOUTH OF CARRICKSVILLE! 

ELLIS FATALLY INJURED! 

“When did this come?” he asked of the writer. 

“Just this minute. Mr. Hoskins is reading the 
message now. They ’ve sent a special down from 
Carricksville.” 

Carricksville, quite a railroad center, lay fifteen 
miles away. Allan hurried around the corner to 
a livery stable. 

“ I want the best horse you ’ve got.” 

The man looked at him suspiciously. “Ride or 
drive?” 

“Ride,” said Allan, breathing hard. “There has 
been an accident on the C. & X. road. My cousin ” 
— his voice failed him, but the livery man caught the 
words, “ badly hurt.” 


180 


GAEBET GRAIN. 


His expression changed. “Train the By lands boys 
were on? That’s bad. Used to horses?” 

Allan muttered, “ Yes.” He could hardly breathe 
or speak. 

“Give him the sorrel. Lively now, Tom. Cousin 
of one of the nine? What, Ellis? Fine fellow, 
Ellis. Beg pardon, sir. Rules is, strangers, cash in 
advance.” 

The bill that Allen threw on the table he had meant 
should cover his expenses for the rest of the term. 
Now every other thought but one was blotted from his 
mind. To see Rodney before — 

“If he keeps up that gait to Carricks, the sorrel ’ll 
be fit for the boneyard,” growled the liveryman, for- 
getting his sympathy in anxiety for his animal. 
“Those schoolboys haven’t no conscience about a 
horse. But he looked as if he might have some 
sense.” 

In his turn he hurried around the corner to inspect 
the bulletin. The news flew rapidly ; the board and 
the Banner office were surrounded and filled by an 
ever-increasing crowd. The exultation of a few hours 
before was turned to anxiety and sorrow. After the 
first message it was some time before another was 
received, and that so confused and brief that it told 
nothing new. 

Meanwhile Allan flew on through the rapidly 


THE BARRIERS DOWN. 


181 


gathering shades of night. The road to Carricksville 
made but two turnings. His bewildered brain did not 
trouble itself with direction. The instinct of a good 
horseman had lessened his first desperate pace ; but 
the sorrel was a free goer for a livery steed and 
needed little urging. 

Like lightning flashes scenes in their lives together 
since Rodney’s coming shone out before him on the 
darkness. Now it was Rodney and he racing together 
across the fields; now they were in the garden, and 
Rodney was straining every nerve to keep np with 
his tougher muscles ; often the garret and their games 
together ; again and again Rodney facing his accusers 
— Rodney now mangled and bloody with the light 
gone out from his staring eyes. 

Through it all he saw himself outwardly honest and 
fair-seeming ; secretly filled with cruel jealousy, with 
envy that was often most bitter when Rodney’s face 
was sunniest to him. 

“He that hateth his brother is a murderer — a 
murderer ! ” 

“ O God,” prayed Allan over and over, “ only 
let me hear him speak once more.” 

He passed through a little settlement where a knot 
of belated idlers lingered on the porch of the country 
store. He thought he heard them talking of the acci- 
dent, but he would not stop to question ; every moment 


182 


GABBET GBAIN. 


was precious. Afterward he remembered that it was 
scarcely possible they could have heard. 

“ There goes a fellow for the doctor, sure,” said 
one of them distinctly as Allan flashed into the light 
and out again. 

He thought of the message he must send to the 
House Blessed ; of the stillness that would settle 
down upon it ; how they would carry him slowly, 
heavily through the door that he used to go bounding 
through with a laugh and a shout. How full of fun he 
was ! how generous ! how forgiving ! His arm seemed 
again pressing Allan’s shoulder. Then suddenly he was 
falling across the tree roots, springing up and looking 
roguishly at Allan from under the brim of his dripping 
hat, as Allan had seen him at first. The rider laughed 
hysterically — a laugh that choked itself with a sob. 

The lights of Carricksville ! His head whirled as 
he saw them. 

The stores were closed, but the restaurants were 
open, and of course the brilliantly lighted saloons, 
since night is only added harvest time for them. He 
stopped to ask the way to the depot. Now indeed he 
heard of the accident, though he asked no questions 
— he could not. The excited voices of a group of 
men reached his ears confusedly : — 

“Kindling wood, they say — Miraculous so few 
badly hurt.” 


THE BARRIERS DOWN. 


183 


“Telegraphed back to side track 27 — Operator 
drunk ” — 

“Live, man? Why, he don’t look human. Every 
bone ” — 

Allan hurried on. And now he saw the depot. 
The smokestack of an engine puffing before it wavered 
unsteadily. The lanterns that men were carrying 
across the platform or up and down the track seemed 
as often on their heads as in their hands. There were 
several sharp whistles, and another engine rolled up, 
her cab and tender covered with men, who dropped off 
and scattered in different directions like ants. Allan 
stopped one of them. 

“ Is the relief train in?” 

“ Just in, sir.” 

He dismounted, fastened his horse, and went up the 
steps like an old man. The door of the waiting room 
opened and two figures emerged — red caps, red and 
white striped shirts, white trowsers, and red shoes. 

“ I wouldn’t have that operator’s conscience for all 
the money in the world,” said one. “ One man killed, 
and no thanks to him that there were n’t a hundred.’ 

Allan crossed the platform at one bound. 

“ Rodney ! Rodney ! ” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


OUT FROM THE HOUSE BLESSED. 

HE brakeman’s name was Ellis — poor fellow ! ” 



Rodney had drawn Allan back into the 


shadow of the building and they were sitting side by 
side on one of the trucks. Allan’s face was hidden in 
his hands. His self-control had entirely given way. 

“ But I really did n’t suppose you ’d take it so hard 
if it had been me, old man.” He cleared his throat 
and continued with suspicious briskness: “It’s all 
owing to the operator at Connor. He should have 
side-tracked 27 there when he heard that the freight 
was in trouble above ; but he was too drunk to read 
the message, and now there are a dozen more or less 
injured and one poor fellow dead. He died in half 
an hour.” 

“ Then if it had been you, I’d have been too late. 
I never could have asked you to forgive me for the 
way I ’ve treated you ever since you came to uncle’s ; 
never told you how I felt — I never can, Roduey — 
when you faced White and Morrison ” — 

“Here! quit! You’ve helped me more than you 
know, old Squaretoes. Where’s your paw?” 


184 


OUT FROM THE HOUSE BLESSED. 185 

They had never clasped hands as they clasped them 
now. 

“ We are friends ; eh, Allan? For good and all, as 
Hosy says.” 

“For good and all,” said Allan solemnly. 

“And now we’d better be thinking about getting 
back to Bylands. How did you come over?” 

“ On horseback. He ’s a pretty fair beast, but I ’m 
afraid he won’t carry double.” 

“Not the double we’d make. Why, it’s Lever’s 
Jim ! Guess you paid pretty well.” 

“ Never mind. You ’re alive and safe. Nothing 
else matters much just now.” 

The church bells had a new sound for Allan on that 
next Sabbath morning. He himself felt like a new 
creature ; he hardly looked like the same lad. The 
spirit of jealousy and envy was dethroned ; in its * 
place reigned another fair and pure, with face uplifted. 
And when he bowed his head in worship his heart 
bowed in sincere repentance and reverent gratitude 
before the Prince of Peace. 

The following Friday they went home. Hosea met 
them at the depot, and the boys rallied him on his 
spruce appearance. 

“ He just shines,” said Rodney. “ But say, Hosy, 
it ’s all spoilt by these old flour bags and the bundles 
back here. When you come for us you ought to come 


186 


GABBET GBAIN. 


in style throughout and leave your errands for the 
big wagon. Where ’ll we stow the valise? Our three 
pairs of legs are too long to have it in front.” 

“ Help me lift this sack over. Now the valise, Rod- 
ney. All aboard. Hosy, what are you waiting for? ” 
Hosea was looking from one to the other curiously. 
“ What ’s up between you fellers? ” 

“Nothing — not a thing.” The lads exchanged 
a smile. “Hurry up, Hosy. We’re crazy to get 
home.” 

“ I see there was su’thin’ different the minute I set 
eyes on ye. Here, shake hands. My ! but I ’in glad 
on ’t. Now this is real garret style.” 

He climbed slowly in, still beaming upon them and 
asked : “ Did ye have a fight? ” 

“Not much; did we, Allan? Who’s going to 
* drive, Hosy?” 

“Both on ye,” said Hosy, giving a rein to each. 
“I said once I didn’t think you’d make it in double 
harness, but I guess you will. Let ’s see you try.” 

They laughed and humored him. He turned his 
head constantly from side to side to grin upon them 
in turn, finally inquiring of Allan in a distinct aside : 
“ Did it happen in the knothole? ” 

Allan flushed. “Yes; don’t talk any more about 
it, Hosy, now, please. Some day Rodney can tell you 
my part and I ’ll tell you his.” 


OUT FROM THE HOUSE BLESSED. 187 

“ You’re bound to come straight to me, Hosy, the 
minute he opens his mouth. He can’t tell any of it 
straight to save him. How ’s Mr. Bolton? ” 

The diversion was instantaneous and complete. 
“ Bolton ! ” said Hosy, with six feet of unuttera- 
ble scorn. “He says he’s converted — con-verted ! ! ! 
and it ’s jest two weeks since he sold your uncle seven 
sheep with the foot rot.” 

Hosea was fairly launched ; the boys had only to 
listen and laugh. Once Allan interjected a question 
about his Sunday evening’s expedition, but as this 
seemed rather to depress him Rodney led the conver- 
sation back to their “ ornery” neighbor. 

“ The boneset cured you right up, Allan,” said 
Aunt Emily, smiling upon him. “ I have n’t seen you 
look so well for some time.” 

“ Yes ’m ; but it was n’t altogether the boneset, Aunt 
Emmie. I was feeling out of sorts with myself and — 
some others. Most of it is straightened out now.” 

“I’m real glad.” Aunt Emily’s hands were all 
flour ; but she went over to where he stood and rose 
on tiptoe to kiss him. “ Dear boy ! ” 

Allan put his arms around her with a hearty 
squeeze. “ You ’ve always been so good to me, Aunt 
Emmie — always, always ! ” 

She kissed him again and went back to her bread. 
She would have been glad to have him tell her the 


188 


GABBET GBAIN. 


whole story, but she knew Charley would probably 
hear it if she did not, and being a wise woman she 
asked few questions. 

Rodney was all over the house half an hour after he 
reached it, and finished by visiting Grandma Wiggin’s 
room and offering to hold some yarn she was sorting 
over. 

“This is the softest, grandma, if you’re looking 
for that.” 

“Yes, dear; it is what I’m looking for. I’m 
going to knit Charley a pair of mittens for next 
winter ; going to begin now, for as old as I be I may 
not be here then. And his hands are such kind 
hands I want him to have the best there is.” 

Rodney nodded very energetically. 

Harold, who had followed him into the room, seeing 
grandma look about for her footstool, brought it from 
another corner and put it under her feet. 

“ Thank you, dear. Kind, kind hands they have — 
Charley and his wife — and the children are growing- 
up like them. His father was so before him, aud 
here’s the third generation. ‘As ye sow ye shall 
reap.’ And there’s you and Allan and Trudie besides.’ 

“And you, grandma. He’s training you right up 
to be as good as he is,” shouted Rodney at her ear. 

Grandma laughed delightedly and patted his arm. 
“We have a good home, haven’t we? So happy 


OUT FROM THE HOUSE BLESSED. 189 


together.” She leaned towards him a little anxiously. 
“ Is Trudie going away? She’s a good girl.” 

“ Trudie ! Why, I ’ve heard nothing. Oh, I guess 
not. I ’m sure Allan knows nothing about it. Why 
should she? ” 

“ She let me read the letter,” said grandma, begin- 
ning to wind. “ It was from an aunt or somebody. 
I ’m so forgetful.” 

“ G -great-aunt,” prompted Harold. 

“ Eh?” 

The child repeated it more slowly, forming the word 
plainly with his lips. 

Grandma understood. “Yes — great-aunt. She’s 
all alone and she wants Trudie.” 

“ She can’t have her,” said Harold stoutly. 

At the same moment Mabel and Madge together 
were breaking the news to Allan in the dining-room : 
“ There ’s a queer old woman wants our Trudie.” 

“ Well, she can go,” said Allan gayly ; “ we’ve got 
plenty of girls.” 

He was sitting on the lounge by Trudie. She 
leaned silently against him, and glancing down Allan 
saw tears on her eyelashes. 

“Nonsense! We can’t spare her of course. I’ve 
got something to say about that. Who ’ll darn the 
family stockings?” 

“ I won’t,” said Mabel, “ for I hate it.” 


190 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“I can darn almost as well as Trudie,” said Madge, 
“ but I don’t believe I could go all around in a week 
unless you boys and Hosy stopped wearing socks 
every day.” 

While Rodney was entertaining the family later 
with a thrilling account of the match game between 
Ansa and Bylands and the railroad accident that 
followed it, Trudie drew her brother away and put a 
letter from Mrs. Taggart into his hands. 

oO 

It had evidently been enclosed in one to Mr. Wyatt, 
and after referring to that continued : — 

I shall treat you in all respects as a daughter if you 
behave in a manner which will permit me to esteem you 
as such. You are expecting of course to earn your own 
living sooner or later and not remain a burden on Mr. 
Wyatt, who has probably all he can do to provide for the 
maintenance and education of his own family. I am 
quite alone in the world, feeble and growing old. I 
need some young person with me and would rather have 
a relative than a stranger. 

“ She was very willing to let Uncle Wyatt take the 
burden off her hands ten years ago,” said Allan bit- 
terly ; “ I don’t believe she would want you now, only 
that she thinks you will save her a servant’s wages.” 

“She said in uncle’s letter that I should go to 

© 

school or have teachers at the house,” said Trudie, 
leaning on his shoulder. 


OUT FROM THE HOUSE BLESSED. 191 


Allan read the letter over, frowning. u Do you 
want to go? ” 

Trudie raised her head to shake it very hard indeed. 
“ Then that settles it,” said Allan, patting her cheek. 
“You can help Aunt Emily a good deal, and I can 
save uncle a man’s wages in summer now. After this 
year I can support us both.’* 

“ But, Allan ” — whispered his sister. 

“ But what? ” 

“ She ’s old and feeble and quite alone.” 

“Well, she isn’t poor; she can hire somebody to 
stay with her.” 

“ I suppose she is queer too,” said Trudie, crying 
softly. “Folks that you pay aren’t always kind to 
queer old people.” 

“ She was so very, very kind to poor mother and 
to us ! ” 

“ I know. O Allan dear, that is n’t garret grain.” 
“Since Mary came back Aunt Emily doesn’t really 
need me,” continued Trudie. 

The year before Mary Brown had married a man 
whom Hosy described as ‘ pretty calico, but dead sure 
to fade.” Six months after he faded suddenly out of 
the vicinity, and poor deserted Mary came sorrowfully 
back to the shelter of the House Blessed. 

“You can help a good deal, Allau, I know that; 
but there are so many years to make up when we w6re 


192 


GARRET GRAIN. 


only an expense. And then if there ’s anything over, 
it seems too bad to have you put it on me when I can 
do this and help somebody too.” 

“You are all I have, Trudie.” 

‘ Yes. Oh, I ’d rather, rather stay ; but, Allan, if 
you were in my place and thought of everything, 
wouldn’t it seem best?” 

Allan moved uneasily. “That’s different. I ’in a 
man ; I can stand more than you can, Trudie. I hate 
to have you go.” 

“Well, we’ll talk it over with Uncle Charley by- 
and-by,” said Trudie, resolutely drying her eyes. 
“They’re calling us. You go and tell them I’m 
coming in a minute. I must bathe my face.” 

Allan answered the clamorous calls for his sister 
with her message and went outside. 

Hosea was leaning over the garden fence. “ Don’t 
look so finnicky fine as it might,” said the latter. 
“With you two youngsters away most of the time 
and your uncle not so peart as usual and Carlos going 
out of the county to get married, it keeps Walter and 
me a-hopping.” 

Carlos was the other hand, who did not live on the 
place. 

“When you get married, Hosy,” said Allan, “I 
hope you’ll settle right down alongside of us.” 

“I sha’n’t take out a license to-inorrer,” returned 


OUT FBOM THE HOUSE BLESSED. 193 


Hosy composedly. “You needn’t begin to mourn 
jest yet.” 

He whistled two or three bars of a melancholy tune 
that would have been puzzled to name itself, and 
turned to Allan with a confidential air. 

“Do you remember the lady I was going to see 
when you was to home last ? Miss Chippen — Sarah 
was her given name. I said she was a perfessor, and 
you asked me, ‘What of?’ Well, I believe she is 
that kind of a perfessor.” 

He whistled the same tune in a livelier fashion and 
broke it short off as before : — 

“I told her — it was last Sunday week — that I 
was going to the city Wednesday. And she said 
would I do her an errand. And I said, ‘ With the 
greatest of pleasure.’ So 1 druv over there Wednes- 
day morning — got there about eight o’clock. They 
said she was n’t up yet, but she ’d be down in a min- 
ute. That opened one of my eyes.” 

Hosea shut it and opened it very wide to illustrate. 

“ You think I did n’t set there a-waiting till plumb 
nine o’clock ! I thought : ‘ She ’s a-fixing up, I ’spect. 
S’pose she ’ll come dowm with all her ribbons and fal- 
lals on ; as if a feller with any sense would n’t know 
that was n’t customary style at a farmhouse in the 
morning ! ’ Think she did ? No, sir ! She had n’t 
even combed her hair. When she came down it was 


194 


GABBET GBAIN. 


up in papers yet, and her old wrapper had a slit in 
it halfway up to her waist. That opened the other 
eye ! ” Hosea opened it again. “ Says I : ‘ This here 
won’t do. With me slower ’n chain lightning and her 
getting up at nine o’clock mornings, we ’d have to 
live to the North Pole to get a day’s work in.’ I ain’t 
been there sence.” 

“ You and Mary will have to make it up between 
you yet, Hosy.” 

“No, sir,” said Hosea, straightening himself. “I 
don’t play second fiddle to no such man as that.” 

Mr. Wyatt showed Allan Mrs. Taggart’s letter to 
him. It was quite a lengthy document, part of it 
taken up with excuses for her apparent lack of inter- 
est in “poor Ruth’s” children, but now offering to 
relieve him of the care of the girl, for whom the 
writer would provide suitable maintenance and educa- 
tion ; speaking as she had spoken to Trudie of her 
loneliness since Mr. Taggart’s death, and of her 
desire for a young companion. 

“ I have answered the letter,” said Mr. Wyatt, 
drawing Trudie to him ; “ and have told her that 
Trudie is like our own child, loved as such, and we 
are not willing to part with her to anybody ; that we 
were perfectly able to take care of her and mean to. 
So, little girl, that settles it. We will all keep 
together.” 


OUT FROM THE HOUSE BLESSED. 195 


Trudie accepted the decision gratefully and Allan 
went back to school with a light heart. He was in the 
midst of the final examinations of the term when 
Rodney brought him up a letter. 

“I hope you won’t be vexed, dear Allan,” wrote 
Trudie ; “but we have heard again from Mrs. Taggart. 
The woman who lived with her so long has died sud- 
denly, and it leaves her more lonely than ever. She 
writes so pitifully that I have decided to go and stay 
with her a while any way. Uncle says he will not 
refuse his consent if I really think I ought — and I 
do ; but he says I am to remember that my home is 
here and that he is only lending me. He would go, 
so would Aunt Emily, so would you — I am sure it is 
right for me. Perhaps I shall be back before the end 
of vacation.” 

But it was six long years before Trudie saw the 
House Blessed again. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


SOWN BY THE WAYSIDE 


UDG-E WHITE very affably promised to take 



Trudie under his guardianship as far as Cleve- 
land, whither he was himself bound, and there secure 
her a berth in the New York sleeper. 

“ No change afterward ; no risk, my dear sir, none 
at all. Her friends meet her at the New York depot 
and she need not even leave her seat. The porter 
will bring her anything she may require ; and she will 
reach the city in time for breakfast.” 

“ And now good-by, my precious girl ! ” said Uncle 
Charley, taking her in his arms as he had done so 
long before. Oh, the years of loving care! “We 
shall look for you by the end of summer.” 

The excitement of preparation, the consciousness 
of being for the nonce the most important personage 
in her little world, had kept Trudie from realizing 
the full sorrow of separation till now. Like others 
of her imaginative temperament, she had a habit of 
mentally placing herself in certain situations and 
conjuring up visions of what she would do and say. 
In fancy she had gone over the parting with them 


196 


SOWN BY THE WAYSIDE. 


197 


all, keeping heroically calm, though her heart felt 
like breaking and the others were dissolved in tears. 

But when the carriage left the House Blessed they 
were all laughing, nnd she with them, though there 
were tears on both sides ; for Hosy, while leaning 
past the pump to wave his hand to her as he held 
Gerty there to drink, had been butted over into 
the watering trough by Nance, and the recollection 
kept Trudie near the borderland of hysterics for 
an hour. 

Now the train carried her past the platform and 
she caught the last glimpse of her uncle’s figure as 
it turned away. Stern reality put to flight every 
vestige of the heroic calm, and poor Trudie faced the 
fact of her loneliness without any help from fancy. 

She made a strong effort, for Judge White was 
making an attempt nearly as heroic to entertain her ; 
but her answers came in gasps and the tears would 
drop from the end of a reddening nose. So he 
presently did the kindest thing possible under the 
circumstances : excused himself for a time and left 
Trudie to the relief of tears. 

She did not know Judge White very well, — as 
I have said, the families were not intimate and Trudie 
had only seen the gentleman at church, — but when 
he placed her in the sleeping car at Cleveland she felt 
that he was a very old friend indeed compared with 


198 


GABBET GBAIN. 


all about her and fairly clung to his hand when he 
said good-by. 

As the train moved out of the Cleveland depot the 
porter ushered a lady into the section where Trudie 
sat. The lady’s face was pale, her eyelids very red, 
and sinking into the seat she buried her face in her 
handkerchief. The sight of her grief checked Trudie’s 
and roused her ready sympathy. She watched the 
stranger’s frame shaking with sobs, and at last changed 
over to sit beside her and lay her hand timidly on 
the lady’s. 

The stranger clasped it, but a fresh burst of sobs 
alarmed Trudie, who feared she had done more harm 
than good. Presently the stranger grew quieter and 
moving nearer her young comforter whispered trem- 
ulously : “My daughter is very ill — dying. They 
have telegraphed for me.” 

Trudie petted the hand she held — it was all she 
could do — and the tearful face rested itself wearily 
on her shoulder while the quivering lips whispered : 
“You dear child!” 

As if it were a relief, she began to whisper brokenly 
that the daughter was her oldest child ; that she lived 
near Philadelphia, and was “ not two years married, 
and with the sweetest baby. O Nelly! Nelly!” 

As Trudie listened in sympathetic silence the 
stricken mother talked of Nelly’s girlhood, of her 


SOWN BY THE WAYSIDE . 


199 


childhood, of her pretty baby ways, till worn out by 
grief and excitement she fell into a troubled doze 
with her head resting on Trudie’s shoulder. The 
stopping of the train roused her and she sat up with 
a confused apology. 

“ I received the telegram yesterday, but it was not 
possible to start until this morning ; and I did not 
sleep any all night.” 

She confided to Trudie another anxiety. “ My 
husband is somewhere on the line of the New York 
Central ; I have telegraphed to half a dozen places 
to have him meet this train. Oh, I dread so to go on 
alone ! You are young to be traveling alone, my 
dear,” noticing for the first time the youth of her 
womanly comforter. 

“Uncle could not come with me,” said Trudie, 
coloring. “ He hated to have me start alone. Oh,” 
tears filling her eyes, “I am leaving my home for the 
first time and I laughed when I came away ! ” At 
the thought of Hosy she laughed hysterically again. 
“ It was our hired man,” she explained to the stranger. 
“ He fell into the trough and I laughed — I laughed! 
How do I know but he broke his poor back? ” 

Now she wept freely while the stranger actually 
smiled. In her turn she acted as comforter, and 
Trudie, struck with a new idea, wiped her eyes and 
put it in operation. 


200 


GARRET GRAIN. 


She made a pillow of her shawl-strap bundle and 
that of the lady in a corner of the seat, persuaded 
her companion to lie down, and covered her with an 
extra wrap. Trudie had the gifts of a sympathetic 
nature — tender hands and a loving touch. She took 
off the lady’s hat, wet her own handkerchief and laid 
it over the burning eyes, watching jealously the nap 
that followed. When night came, finding that she 
had the lower berth, she insisted on changing with 
her adopted charge. 

“ Dear child, what a comfort you have been ! ” the 
lady said gratefully. 

Trudie climbed into her lofty bed comforted in her 
turn by the thought of her ministry. “It’s only the 
dear old garret grain.” At the thought the tears came 
afresh, but they were not so desolate. She did not 
sleep for quite a while, but she liked the motion of her 
elevated nest and was just losing consciousness when 
she heard the porter stop at their section and stooping 
to the lower berth ask: “Is this Mrs. Morrison? 
Your husband is here,” was the next sentence. 

There was a low sobbing cry of welcome and the 
deeper tones of a man’s voice. “I’m so glad he’s 
come ! ” thought Trudie ; and drifted away to the land 
of dreams. 

She was awakened by the lady herself in the morn- 
ing. It was broad daylight. 


SOWN BY THE WAYSIDE. 


201 


“You would surely like to see the Hudson; 
wouldn’t you, dear?” She helped the bewildered 
child, who scarcely knew how to begin a morning 
toilet under such strange conditions. 

“ My little friend, who was very, very kind to me 
yesterday, Louis.” The lady introduced her to a tall 
fair gentleman whose blond whiskers made him look 
like an Englishman. He was very polite and gracious 
to Trudie, but neither he nor his wife said much. 
The lady leaning against her tall husband looked very 
pale and sad. 

When they reached the city the gentleman asked 
Trudie her destination, and turned to his wife saying, 
“ She can go right down in the carriage with us on our 
way to the ferry.” 

“ If you please,” said Trudie, remembering how 
strictly she had been warned against talking with 
strangers, and blushing deeply as she spoke, “ I think 
I had better go around to the waiting room. My aunt 
was to send there for me.” 

“ But suppose for any reason her messenger should 
not come? ” 

“ Then I am to ask a policeman to get me a hack.” 

The gentleman smiled. “ I really think you had 
better go with us,” he said, “ if your aunt’s messenger 
is not already there.” 

“Don’t urge her, Louis,” said the lady gravely. 


202 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“This time it would be safe enough for her to disre 
gard her directions ; another, it might be altogether 
wrong. One cannot be too careful in a strange 
city.” 

They went to the waiting room, but found no one 
that would answer to the description of her aunt’s 
messenger. “ If we did not have our train to make, 
I would stay with you till she came. I shall not soon 
forget you, dear,” said the lady, embracing her. 

Trudie sat down to wait with the feeling of desola- 
tion strong upon her. Her patience was not destined 
to any severe strain, however, for in less than ten 
minutes a neatly dressed sensible looking woman 
approached, asked if she were Miss Foster, and 
handed her a note from Mrs. Taggart which intro- 
duced “ my maid, Mrs. Sophy Dawes.” 

“You must be nearly starved, Miss Foster,” said 
Mrs. Dawes ; “ the train was an hour late. Shall we 
go to the lunch counter for a cup of coffee and a bis- 
cuit before we start out?” 

Trudie did not drink coffee and preferred to wait. 
She thought before she reached her aunt’s house that 
she would remember it, but it looked utterly strange. 
It seemed empty and still, as her dim recollection of it 
was, but the figure whose wrinkled hands and thin face 
looked so yellow against the bed linen was not at all 
like her dim memory of a stately lady whose dress 


SOWN BY THE WAYSIDE. 


203 


rustled and who wore gold eyeglasses and handsome 
rings. 

The invalid shed a few weak tears as she welcomed 
her niece. “You are going to be a great comfort to 
me, Gertrude, I feel sure. I think it is vefy strange 
that Mr. Wyatt did not send you when I first wrote. 
So selfish of him and very strange when he has such 
a houseful of his own ! ” 

Now began a new life for Trudie. Mrs. Taggart 
insisted on calling her Gertrude, saying that “ Trudie” 
was childish. She also desired that her niece should 
take her name. “I shall very probably adopt you if 
we get along nicely together,” she said as if promising 
a great honor, while Trudie’s heart sank almost to her 
shoes at the announcement. 

“ But I ’d rather keep my own name, Aunt Taggart,” 
she urged. “It is Allan’s too. I must go back to 
Allan as soon as you get well.” 

“To Allan!” said Mrs. Taggart. “ Why, child, 
Allan cannot support you for years yet, and by that 
time he will be wanting to get married. You surely 
don’t wish to go back and be a burden on your uncle.” 

“ He never felt it so,” said Trudie sadly. 

“ No, I don’t suppose he did. He is a good man 
if one ever lived ; but it was a burden all the same. 
And really when I think of your father,” said Mrs. 
Taggart, bringing the word out hastily as if she were 


201 


GARRET GRAIN. 


throwing it away from her, “ and what happened here 
in the city I must insist upon your taking my name 
while you stay.” 

“It will seem just like living a lie,” said Trudie 
with her cheeks aflame. 

“ Not at all. I will explain whenever it is necessary 
that you do it at my request,” said Mrs. Taggart 
grandly. “ And now please don’t talk of it any more. 
The very thought of some things that happened long 
ago makes me sick.” 

So poor Trudie, crushed and humbled by the same 
knowledge that had crushed and humbled Allan, sub- 
mitted and felt “like a cat in a strange garret,” as 
she WTote to Mabel, “ very much handsomer than ours, 
with beautiful things in it; but there isn’t a chair so 
easy as our old broken one, and I’d rather be the 
mouse that used to come out from under the eaves 
than own all this and know I was never going back.” 

They wrote to her every week, sometimes two at a 
time, and during the dreadful homesick days that fol- 
lowed it seemed to Trudie that she could hardly h^ve 
lived without those dear loving letters. 

Mrs. Taggart was up and down, one day better, 
another worse ; most of the time peevish and irritable 
to the last degree. With an invalid’s capriciousness 
she attached herself to Trudie and would scarcely 
allow any one else to wait on her at all. Trudie read 


SOWN BY THE WAYSIDE. 


205 


to her till her throat fairly grew sore ; she bathed and 
rubbed her for hours ; she slept in an adjoining room 
and was called for sometimes half a dozen times in a 
night. If it had not been for Mrs. Dawes, fortunately 
a woman of kind heart and considerable tact, the girl 
would have broken down under the pressure of such 
unusual care. As it was, the pretty fresh color she 
brought from her country home soon faded, and it was 
with unutterable relief that she and Mrs. Dawes saw 
their patient at last begin to mend. 

The convalescence threatened, however, to prove 
almost as tedious and certainly as trying as the 
original illness. Mrs. Taggart showed herself a mix- 
ture of characteristics that were very bewildering to 
the girl brought up in the equable atmosphere of the 
House Blessed. Her great-aunt was by turns parsi- 
monious and lavish, moody and cheerful, suspicious 
and confiding, dignified and familiar. A fit of parsi- 
mony during her illness had reduced the household 
staff to two, a maid-of-all-work and a lad who ran 
errands and made himself generally useful. The girl, 
Katrine, excited Trudie’s sympathy. She had been 
in the country but a few months and was as lonely 
and homesick as Trudie herself. 

Trudie offered what consolation and comfort lay in 
her power. She spent many a half-hour helping 
Katrine with her sewing and fitting her clothes for 


206 


GARRET GRAIN. 


her (Trudie’s own fault lay more in carelessness than 
lack of capacity), teaching her to read and speak 
English. She took great pleasure in showing Katrine 
some of the household ways of the House Blessed 
and initiated her into the preparation of dishes that 
were favorites at home. 

Mrs. Dawes often managed a little outing for the 
young nurse, sending Katrine with her, as they could 
not both leave Mrs. Taggart. Under Sophy’s explicit 
directions the two homesick young creatures visited 
the parks and took short walks or rides, Mrs. Dawes 
having first satisfied herself thoroughly of Katrine’s 
innocence and honesty. Katrine’s devotion and grati- 
tude to Trudie were very touching. She called her 
“De little house angel.” 

“If she lose her money,” she declared to Mrs. 
Dawes, “ I work for her — I work for her for not’ing. 
She lady, troo and troo.” 

“ Lose my money? ” said Trudie, laughing. “Why, 
I have n’t any.” 

“ I suppose she thinks you will inherit your aunt’s,” 
said Mrs. Dawes, who had repeated Katrine’s loving 
speech. 

“ Oh, I don’t want to — and have to live here,” said 
Trudie, shuddering. 

“It really is surprising,” said Mrs. Taggart, com- 
menting in her turn to Mrs. Dawes, “that the child 


SOWN BY THE WAYSIDE. 


207 


has turned out so well. Of course oil the mother’s 
side the family is excellent ; but her father — her 
father, Sophy, was a perfect wretch.” 

Then Mrs. Taggart recollected herself and became 
very stately, very stately indeed, sending for Trudie 
and giving her a lecture on her choice of companions. 
“I have no objections to your being kind to both 
Sophy and Katrine,” she ended, “but pray have no 
confidences with them nor allow them to get too 
familiar.” 

Mrs. Taggart and Mrs. Dawes were both very neat. 
Trudie’s special failing met with no mercy from either. 
It was fortunate that she had improved greatly under 
Aunt Emily’s patient training. Her attempts to help 
Katrine had also benefited herself not a little. But 
as it was, there was almost an incessant series for 
some time of: “ Gertrude, your hair!” “Gertrude, 
your teeth ! ” “ Gertrude, your boots ! ” The disci- 
pline was unpleasant, but it was effectual. 

Mrs. Taggart’s restoration to health proving very 
slow, the physician finally ordered change of climate. 
Most of the furniture was sold and the house rented. 
Katrine with many tears said good-by to her “house 
angel,” and Mrs. Taggart, accompanied by Mrs. 
Dawes and Trudie, began her pilgrimage in search 
of health. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


FIRST SHEAVES OF THE HARVEST, 


WO very fine fellows ! You have reason to con- 



-L gratulate yourself on your guardianship, Mr. 
Wyatt.” 

So said Professor Far well, stroking his white beard 
as he stood talking with that gentleman under the 
.shade of the trees on the campus at Bylands. 

A brilliant scene was Bylands campus in the June 
shade and sunshine. It was Field Day ; the next 
would be Commencement. Of course the whole town 
was there, and mothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, with 
a fair sprinkling of fathers and brothers from a dis- 
tance. Everywhere were pretty costumes and prettier 
faces, gratified parents and proud young students who 
felt their brief importance to the full. 

Some may sow seed all their lives and never in this 
life see one head of golden grain. To others the 
ingathering may begin long before the final harvest- 
home. Uncle Charley, listening to Professor Farwell, 
felt that he saw his. His boys were not carrying off 
prizes that most had striven for ; but their reputation 
as students and gentlemen had been high throughout 


FIRST SHEAVES OF THE HARVEST. 209 


the course. To Mr. Wyatt, whose standard was “ the 
measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ,” the 
costliest medal could not have equaled the words of 
the white-haired man at his side : — 

“ They are clean, honorable, manly, reliable lads. 
Their word is to be trusted implicitly ; their influence 
always and everywhere is for the things that are 
honest, pure, and true*. They are ready to help, full 
of brotherly kindness ; full of fun too, especially 
Ellis ; there he goes now. See that spring. I don’t 
believe anybody can beat that.” 

And nobody did. 

In a carriage at the side of the campus sat Allan 
with Mabel, Madge, and Walter. Uncle Charley had 
driven over the day before with his young folks, they 
preferring that way of performing the journey. 

Rodney was one of the foremost in the athletic 
contests. Allan, for reasons given before, was only 
a spectator. His intellectual abilities were but ordi- 
nary ; he could maintain a good standing, nothing more. 
But in these exercises his natural strength and active 
outdoor life would quickly have given him preeminence. 

He knew it and watched the contestants a little 
sadly. It is a natural desire, the wish to excel in 
something. Yet for one thing he felt grateful : he 
could rejoice in Rodney’s successes with all his heart 
and without a spark of envy. 


210 


GABBET GBAIN. 


Rodney came to the carriage flushed, triumphant, 
and looking very handsome in his light uniform. 
Walter, who had been hurrahing himself hoarse, leaped 
down from the seat to seize his hand and wring it. 

“This vacation, Rodney, I want you to train me 
lots. My ! but you went over the ground like a 
streak ! Those other fellows hardly came within 
gunshot of you.” 

“I stumbled; did you see me? Ridiculous! I 
don’t do it once in a dozen times. Girls, Fred White 
is bothering me to pieces for an introduction to my 
pretty cousins. What do } 7 ou say?” 

“No,” said shy Madge, drawing back. “It’s so 
sil^. We don’t want to talk to any strange boys*, 
we ’ve enough of our own.” 

4 4 I wonder how long you ’ll be satisfied with your 
own,” said Rodney, who had not forgotten how to 
tease. “Well, Mabel, shall I bring him?” 

Sixteen-year-old Mabel was not so loath to meet 
“strange boys.” “Is he nice?” she inquired. 

“ No,” said Rodney promptly. “Neither am I. If 
I hear of your calling me ‘ nice,’ I ’ll do something 
dreadful the next minute. Fred used to be 4 nice,’ 
but he ’s got over some of it.” 

44 Is he good, then? ” 

“ Fair to middling.” 

“Is he, Allan?” 


FIB ST SHEAVES OF THE II AB VEST. 211 


“Pretty much like the rest of us,” Allan answered. 

“Don’t have him come,” whispered Madge toiler 
sister. She had noticed the shadow on Allan’s face at 
the mention of his name. 

Mabel was not quite satisfied. “ Would you be 
willing to introduce him to Trudie?” she asked, 
addressing her cousin. 

“ No,” said Allan briefly; “but that is different.” 

In a moment he added : “ It ’s not because he is n’t 
good enough, Mabel ; it ’s just a personal matter.” 

“ Of course I don’t want him to come, if it won’t 
be pleasant to you.” 

“ Oh, we always speak as we pass by. Besides it’s 
not me that he wants to talk to. Bring him along, 
Rodney.” 

Rodney departed on his errand, thinking sadly of 
Allan. “He can’t get over that; it went too deep. 
And here to-day he ’s been shut out of everything, 
just because he would n’t put uncle to a cent of extra 
expense. What a fixed, resolute fellow Allan is ! It 
must be a pull for him even to treat White decently.” 

He returned presently with Fred and one or two 
other young men who had been attracted by Mabel’s 
bright face. She did not lack for attention through- 
out the commencement exercises. But Madge clung 
to Allan. 

In the afternoon she went with him to call on 


212 


GABBET GBAIN. 


Mrs. Stewart and Jenny. To the latter Allan carried 
some flowers and a book. The crippled girl had never 
known the trouble her grateful gift had brought him ; 
nor that so far Allan could not bring himself to wear 
it. He always referred to its beauty when he saw 
her, and no piece of work that Jenny ever did was so 
pleasant a memory to the cripple. 

“ Papa, she said that Allan had just been the 
making of that boy,” Madge said on their way home. 

“ So he has,” said Rodney. “ Had him up there in 
the room night after night to help with his lessons so 
that he could get back the place in school he lost by 
playing truant.” 

“Who started him back to school first?” inter- 
rupted Allan, “ coaxing him away from those little 
rowdies down by the depot, and got him books and 
papers” — 

“ Persuaded him to give up smoking and sign 
the pledge,” continued Rodney in the same tone. 
“There, let’s cry quits and stop. It was only the 
garret grain, wasn’t it, uncle? Pass it along.” 

“ Ay, pass it along,” said Uncle Charley, thinking 
gratefully of the result of his own sowing. 

Rodney and Allan had many long talks that sum- 
mer. Not even to his beloved guardian could Allan 
talk more freely than he now talked with Rodney. 
The friendship between them strengthened steadily. 


FIB ST SI1EA VES OF THE HARVEST. 213 


Each needed in large measure what the other had to 
give. 

The main burden of their talk was their plans for 
the future. Allan had decided on his ; Rodney’s 
father had decided on his ; but Rodney objected to 
his father’s decision and, because of it, to part of 
Allan’s. 

4 4 If I ’ve got to go to college, Allan, I want you 
along. It ’s not an altogether selfish wish on my part 
either. I know you ’d like to go ; that it’s something 
you must do now or never ; and if you don’t take the 
opportunity, you may regret it dreadfully one of these 
days. If uncle was n’t so willing, I would n’t urge it ; 
but you know he wants you to go if you wish. Don’t 
give up the chance, Allan. You’ll regret it if you 
do.” 

44 It ’s very likely,” Allan answered ; “ at least 1 
sha’n’t feel any remorse ; and that is what I should 
feel if I knew he was cramping himself or any of the 
others to help me. Next year he wants Walter to 
begin at Bylands ; Mabel and Madge ought to have 
a year or two somewhere else after they leave the high 
school. No, Rodney, no. If I had been his own son, 
uncle could not have treated me more generously than 
he has. I don’t want to narrow his power to help 
others. Did you ever see any one who did so much 
and yet was so unconscious of how much he did?” 


214 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“ Never! ” said Rodney emphatically. “ He’s the 
best man I ever expect to know.” 

Both boys were silent for a time, and when Rodney 
began again he evidently found some difficulty with the 
words and punctuated them by throwing pebbles into 
the water ; they were lying on the creek bank. 

“I do wish” — splash! splash! — “that you ” — 
splash ! — “ would go halves with me on my allowance, 
Allan,” — splash! splash! splash! “It’s a big one — 
lots more than I ought to spend. With a little economy 
on my part, that would be good for me to use, it 
would take us both through. And father would be 
perfectly willing. He does n’t care how I spend it so 
it’s not dissipation, and I’d give double the amount, 
Allan, to have you with me. You can pay it back 
some day if you choose.” 

“ Thank you, Rodney. It’s a generous offer. I ’d 
take it from you sooner than from anybody — but not 
even from you.” 

“ You could work your own way through, only it 
would take so long,” Rodney suggested after another 
pause. 

“I have thought of that.” Allan got up and 
walked up and down the bank. “Yes, I could do it, 
and I would, even if it was slow work.” He threw 
himself down by Rodney again. “Have you noticed 
uncle this summer?” 


FIRST SHEAVES OF THE HARVEST. 215 


“ He ’s a little thin,” Rodney admitted. 

“ Not only that ; he isn't feeling like himself. Oh, 
yes, he ’s as cheerful and bright as ever ; he ’ll be 
that always. Do you know why I insisted on going 
to the mill with him, Saturday? I saw him stagger 
twice when we were loading up. Last year lie would 
have put the wheat in and taken it out without think- 
ing about it the second time ; but when we came home, 
if you remember, on Saturday, he lay down on the 
lounge.” 

“ It was a hot, hard day.” 

“Yes, and he is not so strong as usual. I don’t 
know about Harold, but Walter will never be a farmer, 
Rodney. All his bent is towards tools.” 

“I wish I had his chance, the monkey! Now 1 
love farming — the very smell of the ground! And 
I suppose there’s nothing for me but business.” 

“Isn’t it odd,” said Allan, regarding him, “how 
twisted things are? Walter would have every chance 
to farm successfully, but he wants to be a mechanic. 
You learn readily, your father wishes you to go to 
college and afterwards into business with him ; but 
you hate it all and want to be a farmer. I like farm- 
ing well enough, but I would like to go to college first 
and I have neither means nor ability.” 

“ Providence gives nuts to those that have no 
teeth,” quoted Rodney. 


216 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“ There is one thing certain so far as I ain con- 
cerned,” said Allan, clasping his hands about his 
knee ; “ at present uncle needs me, and my place is 
here.” 

Rodney spent most of the vacation with Mr. Wyatt. 
His father’s* house seemed ‘less and less like home. 
Mr. Ellis, more than ever engrossed with business, did 
not object ; he had his old faith in his brother-in-law. 
Rodney might call the House Blessed home and wel- 
come ; but when Rodney hesitated about going to 
college and spoke of his wish to be a farmer Mr. 
Ellis only laughed : — 

u Nonsense ! that ’s only a boy’s notion. You ’ve 
had a good time at your uncle’s, but don’t imagine 
you know anything of the drudgery of farm life 
because you ’ve spent three summers at the House 
Blessed ; and besides the drudgery, no society, no 
advantages, not much more than respectable poverty 
after you ’ve strained every nerve. Out in the hottest 
heat of summer, the coldest cold of winter, you 
would n’t stand it a year.” 

“ Surely Uncle Charley lives as comfortably as any- 
body need to. Honestly, father, he seems to enjoy 
life more than you do. I have n’t, three times in a 
year, except now that he ’s not feeling well, seen him 
look as worn and tired as you have all the week.” 

“Your Uncle Charley is an exceptional man; you 


FIB ST SHEAVES OF THE HARVEST. 217 


won’t find another such in a million. Even he would 
have been a hundred times better off if he had turned 
his attention to business instead of agriculture ; don’t 
you know that?” 

“He might have made more money,” Rodney an- 
swered. • 

“And that’s the standard of prosperity here, Rod- 
ney. While we live in this world we ’d better get as 
much of it as we can. I shall need you with me in a 
few years. The business is getting too big for one 
pair of shoulders. I want to put part of it off on 
yours. With your prospects you ’ll be on top in soci- 
ety and everywhere, and my boy must appear as well 
as any of them. So off to college, sir ! ” 

He listened to Rodney’s farther pleading with good- 
humored impatience and set it resolutely aside. 
“Your Uncle Charley has had you three years and 
over and he has done well for you, Rodney. I am 
perfectly satisfied, as I knew I should be. But now 
I want you. You ’ll thank me some day.” 

He was proud of the bright, handsome lad, and no 
young man could help being pleased with the allowance 
he stood ready to make for his son’s expenses. 

“ I kept you pretty short when you were younger. 
Your uncle and I both thought it wise. But now I 
don’t believe it will get away with you, and there ’s no 
reason why you should n’t have sufficient.” 


218 


GABBET GBAIN. 


The allowance would easily take two of Allan’s 
economical habits — with much less economy than he 
had learned to practice — through the course. Rod- 
ney could not resist going to him with the offer a 
second time when he made them a flying visit at 
Christmas. • 

“ Well, what be you going to do about it?” Hosy 
asked. He did not know of Rodney’s offer, but he 
knew that both he and Mr. Wyatt were urging Allan 
to go to college. 

“ What am I going to do? Stay right here. What 
would you think of me if I did not ? ” 

“ That you were ’most as mean as Bolton ; but it ’s 
a big temptation. Your uncle is n’t the man he was. 
He ’s been trying to do everybody else’s work and 
his own too.” 

“ I know it. He must rest. It’s my turn now.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 

VER the House Blessed hung the heaviest 



shadow it had ever known. Death had entered 
it before, but it was to gently summon those whose 
heads were white to the sleep God giveth his beloved. 
Sore the loving hearts that grieved for them, wide 
the vacant place they left, but they had been called 
only when the pains and infirmities of advancing years 
threatened them and their life work was done. 

Now it was the liouse-bond who lay stricken — 
the man still in the prime of life, “full of good 
deeds and alms-giving,” the friend of the whole com- 
munity, whose heart suffered with the sufferings of 
others, whose hand never closed to his brother’s 
need. I said the shadow lay over the House Blessed ; 
its darkness was felt in every home around. 

He had been confined to his room but a few days 
when the physician,- an old friend and a thoroughly 
honest man, drew Allan aside and told the bewildered 
youth as gently as possible that his uncle’s illness 
threatened to terminate fatally. 


219 


220 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“ He may linger for weeks, but there is no telling 
how soon his mind may become clouded ; and if he 
has any plans or wishes, they should be known. 
I think he had better be told frankly. I should wish 
it if the case were mine ; what do you think ? ” 

“ Tell him,” said Allan ; and went and hid himself. 

In a little while his uncle sent for him. The youth 
set his teeth hard together and obeyed the call. As 
he entered the room Mr. Wyatt held out his hand 
with the old cheerful smile ; Allan threw himself 
down beside the bed and laid his face upon the 
kind thin hand. 

“Be brave, Allan. Why, this is nothing terrible 
for me ; it is only going home. And for the others — 
you are my oldest son, Allan, my dear, dear bo} T .” 

As if he were his son indeed, he talked with the 
broken-hearted lad, planning with Allan and with his 
wife for the education of the children, for her comfort, 
for old Mrs. Wiggin, Hosy, Allan himself, the Bol- 
tons, the Wilsons ; it seemed as if no creature that 
had known his bounty escaped the sick man’s tender 
thought. 

“I have only one regret, and that is, that it ties 
your life here, Allan, until Walter is old enough 
to take the burden off your hands.” 

“The burden, uncle? Burden! And here! It’s 
been the happiest home in all the world with you in 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 221 


it. Without you — may God help me ! My life and 
strength belong to you and yours.” 

u My dear ! my oldest son ! ” calling him by the 
name he knew Allan loved best. “My own boy!” 

At first they did not tell -the children, but when 
Walter found Hosy sittting on a salt barrel under the 
stairs in the sheep barn with his face completely 
buried in a big blue handkerchief he turned cold with 
fear and went to Madge and Mabel. 

“ They think father is n’t going to live, I know. 
Nothing else could make Hosy cry like that.” 

Allan found all four a bewildered despairing group, 
waiting for him in the hall outside as he came from 
his uncle’s room. 

They threw themselves upon him and drew him 
out of hearing. “Allan, Allan, is it true? Do you 
think that father heard us? We tried to keep still. 
O Allan ! let us go upstairs — away — and you tell us 
— tell us ” — 

“ Not the garret,” whispered Madge ; “ oh, not the 
garret ; we ’ve been so happy there ! ” 

Tears blinded Allan’s eyes ; he drew them to him 
in a wordless close embrace. 

It gave him new strength afterwards to see how 
they clung to him — their elder brother indeed. He 
had always loved them ; now his heart went out in 
such a passion of tenderness and protecting care that, 


222 


GARRET GRAIN. 


undemonstrative as he was by nature, he rarely passed 
them without a tender touch or clasp. To him they 
came with all their anxious questions that might 
worry mother, and Allan’s patience never failed. 
In his arms Aunt Emily wept out her aching heart 
while to the sick room she carried a cheerful face to 
answer her husband’s loving smile. 

It was Uncle Charley who, more than any other, 
in spite of pain and weakness, kept up their cour- 
age and their strength. His faith was so fixed 
upon its rock foundation, he talked so often of the 
“ better country,” that they could almost see its 
brightness shining in the worn and peaceful face ; and 
yet his tender thought dwelt on each of those whom 
he had been accustomed to benefit. 

He said one day: “Allan, I promised Tommy 
Wilson if he did not earn quite enough for his clothes 
this winter, that I would help him out. Can you see 
about it? ” 

Again: “Tell Hiram Dare not to worry about his 
note. He hurt his hand so badly in the thresher last 
summer that it put him back. Mark the interest 
paid.” 

Another time: “The outside door of Grandma 
Wiggin’s room must be fixed ; she cannot close it 
tightly without too much effort.” 

Hosea brought the horses down past the window 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 223 


(the invalid had one of the lower rooms) every day, 
that, propped up in bed, their master might see them. 
It was Hosy’s own idea. “ There ain’t a four-footed 
thing that don’t miss him. When did you ever see 
’em keep crowding ’round the gate like that when 
they had plenty to eat in the racks?” 

He led Gerty down one day, and as it was not very 
cold the sash was raised for a moment and Mr. Wyatt 
feebly called her name. Instantly the soft gray nose 
thrust itself in through the open window and Gerty 
responded with a joyous whinn} 7 . It was too much 
for Hosy ; the blue handkerchief was hurriedly pro- 
duced and he led Gerty back, stumbling against her 
almost every step of the way. 

As long as he was strong enough they gathered in 
the invalid’s room for worship. It was perhaps the 
third evening when, looking up from the Bible that lay 
upon the bed before him as they finished reading he 
said with gentle invitation : “ Allan, my son.” 

A great hand seemed to clutch Allan’s throat. He 
turned appealingly to his aunt, and it was her falter- 
ing voice that led the evening prayer. But when they 
had risen from their knees he bent over the sick man 
to whisper: “You shall not ask that of me again in 
vain.” 

As his weakness increased the invalid passed hours 
in a sort of stupor. Once rousing as a gust of wind 


224 


GABBET GBAIN. 


struck the house sharply he lifted up his head a 
moment to listen. 

“ It is growing colder, Allan ; do you suppose Mrs^ 
has wood enough? She suffered so with rheuma- 
tism this fall.” 

“ I will take a load up this very afternoon,” Allan 
said. 

He and Hosy went out into the woods together. 
The withered leaves rustled sadly ; their axes struck 
with a leaden sound. 

Hosea sighed : ‘ 4 The very woods is full of the sor- 
row of it. D’ ye mind how mournful the creek sounds ? 
Don’t it seem cur’ous? ” he continued as Allan nodded 
in reply, “ cur’ous how such things go? I ain’t 
a-faulting Providence, — the Lord ’s wiser and sees 
farther and deeper than any of us, — but don’t it seem 
cur’ous that it ’s Mr. Wyatt that ’s got to go, when 
the hull community needs him, and there ’s stacks of 
the wurthlessest, orneriest critters left that folks 
would ruther spare than not? Think of Bolton ! ” 

Hosy’s feelings became too deep for utterance. He 
lifted his axe. “ I ain’t a-faulting Providence but” — 

The axe dropped without striking. In the distance 
coming as rapidly towards them as the nature of the 
ground permitted, they saw a man. Hosea had a 
hawk’s eye for any one of the family. 

“There’s the scamp himself — heading here, too. 


m THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 225 

I wish he ’d keep away. I feel dangerous to see him 
skipping around like a goat and men he ain’t fit to be 
dirt for — Allan, don’t you lend him a thing, nor 
trade nor sell nor buy.” 

And now his axe struck hard and fast indeed. Mr. 
Bolton approached, bowing with bared head in his 
extreme civility, but his oily manner was somewhat 
hurried and anxious. 

“Good-morning, Mr. Foster — Mr. Bannister. I 
hope our dear friend is improving.” 

Allan heard Hosy grit his teeth. “ If there is any 
change at all,” the young man answered sadly, “it is 
for the worse.” 

“ But they think he will rally, don’t they — the doc- 
tors ? I have n’t been down for some days, because ” — 
Mr. Bolton cleared his throat — “I heard they thought 
he had too much company.” 

“ Hull creation and his wife ’d tire a well man to 
death,” muttered Hosy. 

Allan answered Mr. Bolton’s question by simply 
shaking his head. The latter’s oily manner dropped 
from him like a veil. 

“It is true, then — they think he won’t live. But 
we can’t — Mr. Foster, how can we let him go?” 

“If you’ve got any special holdbacks for Death,” 
said Hosea bitterly, “you’d better be getting of 
’em ready.” 


226 


GARRET GRAIN. 


Mr. Bolton took off his hat and drew his hand 
across his face. 

“You must be about tired out with watching,” he 
said eagerly. “I — I studied medicine when I was a 
young man, and I was in a hospital quite a while. I 
am — I was a good nurse. I would take it as a great 
favor if you ’d let me help take care of him. He ’s 
been the best friend” — 

He lost his voice and looked into his hat intently as 
if to find it. 

‘ ‘ A pretty condition you ’d be in half the time to 
care for a sick man,” cried Hosy. 

“ I have n’t touched a drop of liquor for nearly two 
years, Mr. Bannister. It was he that helped me up, 
ay, and helped me keep up. I know as well as you 
do that I am not fit to be his friend, but I love him, 
and God knows if my life would save his I ’d lay it 
down this minute. Ask him if I may not come and 
help ; ask your aunt, Mr. Foster. Think ; it may be 
the last chance I ’ll ever have ” — 

“ I will speak to them, Mr. Bolton,” Allan assured 
him. 

“ Thank you ! thank you ! I will come to-night and 
see.” He turned and went hastily away. 

“What dodge is he up to now, I wonder?” said 
Hosy, pulling his prejudices up into position again. 
They had wavered at the sight of Mr. Bolton’s emotion. 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 227 

“ Hosy,” said Allan sternly, “ can’t you tell better 
than that whether a man is in earnest or not ? ” 

44 Yes, most folks — but not John Bolton. I know 
him inside and out, upside and down, root and branch, 
from A to Izzard and back.” 

Eventually he had to acknowledge, however, that he 
did not know John Bolton’s capabilities as nurse. 

When they told Mr. Wyatt of his prayer the 
immediate feeble answer was: “Let him come. We 
have been neighbors a good while. Poor John ! ” 

And Aunt Emily, who rarely left him save for the 
briefest moments for rest and food, accepted the new 
assistant unquestioningly. 

Mr. Bolton was needed. Allan and his aunt, long- 
ing to do all for their precious invalid, found that there 
were limits to physical endurance. Weeks of constant 
watching and anxiety were having their effect. Sleep 
would conquer them sometimes in spite of every effort 
when they should have been awakened. His uncle 
had twice feebly called Allan for water without rous- 
ing him and after that the lad walked the floor almost 
incessantly for two nights. 

Apparently Mr. Bolton never slept in the night. 
Waking at the hours when he had been accustomed to 
give his uncle medicine or refreshment, Allan invari- 
ably saw Mr. Bolton performing that or some other 
duty ; or if he chanced to be leaning back in his chair 


228 . 


GARRET GRAIN. 


with closed eyes, a heavier breath than usual would 
strike them open and alert at once. He knew instinct- 
ively when to move the patient, turn the pillow over, 
bring him a glass of water, or lift the bedclothes for 
a moment from the weak and tired limbs. 

Hosea watched him with a curious expression, as if 
he expected some sudden development of evil and did 
not mean to be taken by surprise. 

After he had been in the sick room several days, 
.Mr. Bolton told the doctor that he thought he had 
seen a case similar to Mr. Wyatt’s once in the 
hospital. 

“He was very low and the physician in charge told 
us that there were a thousand chances to one against 
his recovery, but there was one for him. The fever 
might die out before the breath of life did, and if that 
happened and we saw the change in time — a very 
brief time — and gave him a stimulating remedy 
every fifteen minutes, he might pull through. But the 
change did not come, though I remember how I 
watched for it. Do you suppose there is any such 
chance in this case?” 

“ Just the same and just the same extremely faint 
probability now that the change may even take place. 
I am glad you are here, Mr. Bolton. Your experi- 
enced eye would probably detect it if any one’s could. 
I would hardly answer for my own, he is so weak. I 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 229 


will leave a stimulant, and I wish you may have a 
chance to use it, but I have little hope.” 

Another week of weary watching and waiting. It 
became plainly evident that the question now was only 
of days, nor could they be many. Allan was walking 
slowly up from the village one evening sunk in deep 
despondency, when he was suddenly clasped in a 
very bearlike hug, and there at his side stood 
Rodney. 

“ I could not stand it any longer, Allan. I felt that 
I must see uncle. Father is all worked up over it. 
He would have been here before only he said that he 
could do no good, and he could n’t bear to see Uncle 
Charley suffer. I thought perhaps, being used to the 
place, I might be of use somewhere. Is uncle no 
better ? ” 

“ He is no better.” 

“ Is there no hope at all? ” 

Allan shook his head. 

“If he dies, Allan,” said Rodney, choking sud- 
denly, ‘ 1 1 am coming back here to help you take care 
of them.” 

It was an inexpressible comfort to Allan to have 
Rodney with him. He drew his friend’s arm affec- 
tionately through his own. 

Mr. Bolton stood at the gate, looking eagerly up the 
road. 


230 


GABBET GBAIJSf. 


The young men quickened their steps. “ Is uncle 
worse?” they inquired together. 

“No, sir; no, sir.” He drew the gate together 
with hands that trembled. “I think perhaps he is a 
little, a very little better. I thought I saw a change 
in him last night. I had been praying.” He looked 
at them shyly ; the man was not ignorant of, though 
he might ignore, the sentiment of the community con- 
cerning himself. “Yes, it was past midnight and 
I had been praying. He looked a little different. I 
changed the medicine. This morning I thought I saw 
it more clearly, and I am anxious for the doctor to 
come to hear what he says.” 

What the doctor said when he did come was : 
“ There was just one chance in a hundred and he has 
made it.” 


CHAPTER XXI, 


JOY AFTER SORROW, 


T was Rodney who carried them all off to the 



garret for a praise meeting ; and Hosy, with the 
tears running down his cheeks, prayed fervently that 
the Lord would forgive him for c 1 hatred and malice 
and all uncharity, and an awful mean way of judging 
other folks.’’ 

Then he went downstairs and inquired softly at the 
keyhole of the sick man’s door: “Mr. Bolton, are ye 
there ? ” 

Mr. Bolton replied that he was. 

“Would you mind coming out here a minute?” 

Mr. Bolton came out. 

“Would you mind shaking hands?” said Hosy in 
the same loud whisper. “ Thank ye ! Now the other. 
Thank ye ! John Bolton, I ’ve said lots of mean 
things of you and to you, many a time. Maybe I ’ll 
do it again — I don’t mean to — I ask your pardon. 
You ’ve acted like a white man here and no mistake. 
Will you shake again? ” 


231 


232 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“Certainly,” said Mr. Bolton, somewhat embar- 
rassed ; “ certainly, certainly ! ” 

And taking the opportunity when Allan and Rodney 
were with him in the stable, Hosea addressed them, 
leaning on his pitchfork the while: “Look here, 
you ’ve both heard me say pretty sassy things about 
John Bolton. I guess he deserved some on ’em. 
That ’s neither here nor there. He ’s done for the 
man I love like a brother what I could n’t do to save 
my life. I could n’t do nothing but smash bottles 
and make a racket and snore like a horse fiddle. 
Now he ’s — he ’s come back to us,” said Hosy, jerking 
the blue handkerchief hastily out of his hat, “ and if 
ever either of you hear me say anything against John 
Bolton from this time forward, I want you to knock 
me flat — flat! I say, clean down!” 

“ Won’t halfway do, Hosy ? ” asked Rodney. 

“No, sir; it won’t. Flat’s the word — flat as a 
flounder.” 

“ I suppose we might as well do it whenever you 
speak against anybody ; it ’s the habit, you know, 
Hosy,” suggested Rodney. 

But at this Hosea looked dubious. “ I guess we ’ll 
draw the line at John Bolton,” he rejoined. 

One by one, then in groups of two and three, the 
grateful family stole in to look at their recovered 
treasure. He had gone quietly to sleep after the 


JOY AFTER SORROW. 


233 


doctor’s visit and lay very still — so still, so thin and 
haggard after the conflict with pain, that Madge and 
Mabel could not resist touching, like snowflakes, the 
thin hand that lay on the counterpane. But it was 
warm and moist ; the fever flush had left his face and 
he breathed evenly without the distressing catch in 
his breath to which they had listened so long. Mr. 
Bolton hovered about the room, nodding or shaking 
his head in answer to whispered questions and plead- 
ing for silence with eloquent gestures. 

Allan and Rodney were standing at the bedside 
when Hosea looked wistfully in through the partly 
opened door. He shook his head deprecatingly when 
Rodney motioned him to enter, but when Allan re- 
peated the invitation he edged through and began a 
snail-like progress of advance, moving on tiptoe, his 
arms closely pinioned to his sides and his face taking 
a new grimace with every step. He had turned the 
corner made by the head of the bedstead safely and 
was beginning to relax the extreme severity of his 
countenance, when he touched the corner of an extra 
pillow and sent it rolling over on the sleeper’s face. 
Mr. Wyatt stirred and woke, while Hosea uttered a 
groan that seemed to come from his heels. 

The sick man’s eyes, clear and full of their old 
kindness, turned towards him. “Never mind, Hosy, 
I have surely slept long enough. Why, Rodney, you 


234 


GABBET GBAIN. 


here ! Bless you and Allan. Allan ’s been such a 
good son. Hosy, dear old fellow.” 

He reached his thin hand feebly out. Hosy got it 
between both his own for a moment and then fled with 
much less caution than he had used in entering. 

And now how important was Mr. Bolton ! How 
autocratic in the sick room ! The children fretted not 
a little against his restrictions, and Hosea found him- 
self on the point of incurring a knock-down more 
than once. The others bore his rule more cheerfully, 
remembering what a capable nurse he had proved him- 
self. The rule did not last long. In ten days’ time 
the improvement was so manifest that Mr. Bolton 
returned home and the family had their dear invalid 
all to themselves. 

Hosea now made frequent visits, which were always 
seasons of mingled dread and delight. It was amus- 
ing to see him stand for several minutes in the hall, 
divided between his desire to enter and his foreboding : 
“Well, I wonder what I shall smash this time?” 

One of the first things Allan did was to send a 
telegram bearing the joyful news to Trudie — poor 
Trudie who was nearly heartbroken over her uncle’s 
danger, and who deluged them with agonized peti- 
tions for news of him and pleas to be sent for if 
they needed her. Mrs. Taggart had been sick at 
the same time. When there were so many others 


JOY AFTER SORROW. 


235 


at the House Blessed the girl knew that duty held 
her at the bedside of the lonely old woman, but her 
thoughts were constantly with the loved and suffer- 
ing ones at home. 

“What does Trudie write about herself?” Rodney • 
asked Mabel. 

Mabel replied by an account compiled from Trudie’s 
letters of their wanderings and the difficulty expe- 
rienced in contenting Mrs. Taggart with the climate, 
the neighborhood, and a house in any one place. 

u Does she write as if she were changed at all?” 

“ Not a bit,” cried Madge and Mabel; but Walter 
said in an aggrieved tone : “I think she is. I wanted 
her to write me a verse to end up my composition with 
and she said she did n’t write doggerel^any more. And 
she wants us to call her Gertrude ; says Trudie is so 
childish.” 

* “Well, Gertrude is prettier. You know I used to 
call her that half the time,” said Rodney. 

“Yes, and she didn’t like to have you a bit then.” 

“ Because he always did it to tease her,” said 
Mabel. 

“Girls are queer, Walter,” said Rodney, shaking 
his head with a superior air; “and you’ll find them 
queerer, queerest as you grow older. By the by, 
neither one of ours has said how she likes my 
mustache.” 


236 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“We don’t like it at all,” cried the girls in chorus. 
“ There is n’t enough of it to like.” 

“ Now that is certainly queer,” said Rodney, patting 
his upper lip affectionately. “ I ’m sure it’s very plain. 
Grandma Wiggin noticed it at once. She said : ‘ I beg 
pardon, my dear, but I think your face needs washing.’ 
Is Fred White’s any more clearly defined, Mabel?” 

“I’m not authority for Mr. White’s personal appear- 
ance,” Mabel answered. 

“ That is quite correct, quite correct,” said Rodney 
paternally. ‘ ‘ You are altogether too young to make any 
such observations of any gentlemen except Allan and 
me.” He rose up from under an avalanche of cush- 
ions and sofa pillows, remarking, “ But I see you have 
no proper reverence for either of us.” 

He went back to college very reluctantly. The 
ground called to Rodney. As he had said, he loved 
the smell of the fresh earth, loved to see it roll over 
in long furrows, loved to see the green buds and 
blades starting, loved the wide free sense of outdoor 
life, had a tenderness for all the lower living creatures, 
even the homeliest domestic ones. What his father 
deemed merely a fancy was really the strong bent of 
his whole nature. 

“ But I have promised father to stay in college if he 
wishes it, and Uncle Charley advises the same thing. 
He says by no means to lose the opportunity, since I 


JOY AFTEB SORROW. 


237 


have it ; that one never regrets the fact of an educa- 
tion, though they often regret the lack of it. Yet, 
Allan, if I live, the day will come when my little home 
goes up on yonder seventy-five acres.” 

‘ ‘ A little home all over seventy-five acres ! ” said 
Allan. “ Well, that will take a good slice of your 
money. I was wondering what you would do with it.” 

“Spend it in improvements. You needn’t laugh. 
There are plenty of things that need improving besides 
real estate.” 

He was silent a moment. “ There is a lot of real 
estate I’d like to get my hands on down town. And 
some of it belongs to my own father. It is n’t fit for 
pigs, Allan. We would expect ours to have the 
cholera, sure, if their pens were half as bad. Yet 
those places are crammed with human beings paying 
half — yes, more, often — of the poor pittance they 
can scratch together for rent.” 

“ I remember,” Allan answered with a shudder. 
“How does it happen that you speak so feelingly 
about it?” 

“ I work a little in one of the missions there when 
I am at home,” replied his friend; “and afterwards 
I lie awake half the night and think of it out here. I 
hate the city, Allan — yes, hate it.” 

“ There *s something so dreadfully hardening, too, in 
the sight of that constant misery and wretchedness,” 


238 


GARRET GRAIN. 


he continued. “You wouldn’t think it, but there is. 
My father is naturally a kind-hearted man, but when I 
went to him about some of the buildings he owns he 
first laughed at me and then got angry. He said that 
I was a fool, that those creatures had always lived 
that way and always would, that they wouldn’t know 
what to do with decent homes if they had them, and 
that he was afraid I ’d make a perfect dunce about 
business after all. Business ! ” said Rodney in a tone 
of utter contempt. “ If that’s business, I’ll try to be 
a dunce.” 

Mr. Wyatt was beginning to walk about the place, 
leaning on a cane, when his former nurse was stricken 
suddenly and violently ill. Hosea brought the news 
and was full of excitement and anxiety. 

“He ain’t got a friend scarcely except we folks, 
and he needs tending day and night. Look here, Allan, 
I ’ll pay a man’s wages here if you ’ll go. I never 
wanted to do anything worse in my life, but you know 
what a mess I’ll make of it.” Hosea gave a groan of 
despair. “The spirit’s willing but the flesh is too 
tormented clumsy. I ’d likely pizen him to death the 
first thing and break all the crockery over him the 
next.” 

Everything he could do, though, Hosea did. He 
went to the house half a dozen times a day to see if 
Mrs. Bolton needed anything, and kept a lynx eye on 


JOY AFTER SORROW. 


239 


the woodpile and water pail. He rode to town for 
delicacies to tempt the sick man’s appetite and took all 
the six children — the two oldest were no longer at 
home — out riding to give the house 4 4 a spell of clear' 
quiet.” He found to his surprise and gratification 
that he could enter the sick room and even care 
for the invalid without 44 breaking every bone in 
his body ; ” also, that Mr. Bolton seemed to enjoy his 
ministrations. 

“You see,” he confided to Mr. Wyatt, 44 I’ve got 
considerable of a crop to plow under. I don’t like 
the appearance that harvest ’ll make on the reports up 
yonder after he hands his ’n in. And I hope the 
Lord ’ll spare him till I get things straightened up a 
little.” 

But it was not to be. The man’s constitution, 
unlike that of Mr. Wyatt, had been weakened by pre- 
vious dissipation.’ He had no recuperative power, 
and the disease fastened itself upon him too thor- 
oughly to be shaken off. In less than three weeks the 
end came, and he passed from the judgment of his 
fellow men to that which is absolutely merciful and 
just. 

On the last day of his life, in the delirium that had 
been a feature of his disease almost from the first, 
he cried out clearly: 44 Mr. Wyatt! Mr. Wyatt!” 

44 If you want to see uncle, Mr. Bolton,” said Allan, 


240 


GARRET GRAIN. 


bending over the sufferer, “ we will get him here as 
soon as possible.” 

There was n’t intelligence in the eyes raised to his, 
but the voice rang out with wonderful clearness and 
conviction. 

‘ 4 1 ’ve lived next him for ten years — ten years — 
and I don’t want any better argument for Christianity 
than he is. Tell him — tell him — God so loved the 
world — God so loved the world — he showed me — 
me — me — the chief of sinners ” — 

And after that he said no more that they could 
understand. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


NOTHING BUT LEAVES. 

TN the third year of Rodney’s college course he 
persuaded Allan to spend the holiday vacation 
in New York. 

At the same time he sent for Hosea. “Do you 
remember,” he wrote to Allan, “how the old fellow 
used to say he hoped some time he could wink one 
eye at the biggest city of the biggest country on the 
4 arth ’ ? I want to make him a Christmas gift of a 
visit here in memory of old times. You tell him, 
Allan, and you bring him along.” 

Hosea was delighted with the trip but he was very 
uneasy in Rodney’s home, though Mr. Ellis welcomed 
him almost as heartily as Rodney himself. The con- 
stant fear that he might break or injure something in 
the handsome rooms increased his awkwardness ter- 
ribly. In pity Rodne} 7 kept him out on the street 
sight-seeing most of the time, and this Hosy enjoyed 
without stint. 

He did so until one day when Rodney took him to 
a wretched down town quarter to show him “the other 
side.” Hosy had agreed readily enough to the pro- 


241 


242 


GABBET GBAIN. 


posed expedition, but Rodney felt sorry they had made 
it when he saw Hosy’s face lengthen and lengthen at 
the sights and sounds. He sat down to dinner without 
any appetite and declared that he expected to smell 
that place the rest of his natural life. 

Rodney took him oft later for a trip down the bay, 
but he looked so woe-begone next morning that the 
young host asked if he were sick. 

“ Yes, sir ; homesick and heartsick,” was the 
prompt reply; “and scairt half to death besides. I 
don’t want you to take it amiss, Rodney, I ’ve had a 
first-rate time, su’thin’ to remember all my life, a 
Christmas gift that ’ll last me many a year ; but what 
you showed me yesterday was a little too much. I 
could n’t but think of a teacher telling me when I 
first begun jography, that the hull inside of the earth 
was red hot and a-b’ilin’ and we was livin' on jest a 
thin crust outside. I stepped round real light for a 
good bit afterwards for fear of slumpin’ through. 
You folks are on the top crust, Rodney, in this here 
city, but there ’s all that awful stuff a-b’ilin’ away 
down yonder, and it seems to me the crust is dreadful 
thin. I ’ll be a-thinkin’ about it from now on, an’ I 
guess if you don’t mind, Rodney, I ’ll go home 
to-morrer.” 

He went. Most of his speeches for months after- 
wards had at least one sentence in them and that was : 


NOTHING BUT LEAVES. 


243 


“When I was to New York.” In that case they 
invariably ended with an emphatic: “But I tell you 
I ’m glad I don’t live there.” 

The young men saw very little of Mr. Ellis. He 
was engrossed in business and looked harassed and 
worn. Rodney told his friend he feared his father’s 
later enterprises were not succeeding well. 

“ He asked me if I could make this year on less 
than my usual allowance, and I told him to take off 
half. A leaf out of your book, Allan. I ’d stop 
altogether and help him, but that he won’t agree to.” 

The broker’s old geniality had largely disappeared. 
He was moody and irritable, swearing at the servants 
for the slightest fault. Allan saw that Rodney 
watched him anxiously in the presence’ of guests. 
Some days he sent dish after dish from the table, 
grumbling at each in turn ; on others he would eat 
greedily and drink wine until his face grew flushed 
and his speech no longer clear. 

“ So you ’re another of the abstainers,” he said to 
Allan on the first occasion of that young man’s declin- 
ing to have his glass filled. “ Rodney, too. It ’s just 
as well — just as well. It ’s an expensive habit for 
young men. But you don’t know how much you 
miss.” 

He filled his own glass, tasted it, nodded, and set 
it down. 


244 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“When I am tired out and fairly bothered to death 
with the 4 ways that are dark and the tricks that are 
vain * of the scoundrels about me, there is no comfort 
like this,” emptying the glass. 

“But the comfort doesn’t stay by you, father,” 
said Rodney; “it leaves you with a headache 
finally.” 

“ Sometimes, sometimes. I think, however, the 
headache would come anyway. It’s a wonder my 
head does n’t burst with these confounded business 
perplexities. I thought Charles Wyatt was a fool for 
sticking to the farm instead of going into business, 
but he was a wiser man than I, I believe. It ’s a 
dog’s life, this.” 

“Then why not give it up, sir? You surely have 
enough to quit the drudgery and rest.” 

“ You know nothing about the force of habit, my 
boy. If I stopped to-day, I should die in a year. 
The bustle and crush and hurly-burly are life to me 
— such as it is. Enough, eh? You’ll find it little 
enough when it’s yours.” 

“ I don’t want it, father. I wish you’d stop and 
get some rest and comfort out of it yourself.” 

“ Oh, I forgot; he wants to dig in the ground, this 
fellow! Now, Mr. Foster,” turning to Allan, “what 
do you think of that?” 

“It is my own work,” said Allan, smiling. “You 


NOTHING BUT LEAVES. 


245 


know the proverb, ‘ Speak well of the bridge that 
carries you safely across.’ ” 

“But you felt in a measure obliged to take it up, 
didn’t you? gratitude to your uncle and so on.” 

“ If I should choose now,” the young man answered 
gravely, “and had all the professions and employ- 
ments to choose from, I should take the one I 
have.” 

“Well, there is Rodney,” said the broker. “I 
begin to think I shall never make a business man of 
him.” He leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully 
observing both young men. “It’s a most unheard- 
of thing, though, don’t you think so, Mr. Foster, 
a fellow in Rodney’s position and surroundings choos- 
ing that ? What, sir, will you do with any spare cash 
that I may chance to leave you ? ” 

“ Use it on improvements, as I told Allan,” laughed 
Rodney. 

“Ay! You’ll spend it fast enough that way.” 
He sat in an abstracted reverie for a while and soon 
after excused himself. 

Allan wondered during his stay if he ever would — 
even with his present affection for him — understand 
and appreciate Rodney. Fast friends as they were, 
he realized that he was still inclined to underrate 
him. 

Rodney’s gayety and lightheartedness led Allan, 


246 


GARRET GRAIN. 


with a graver nature, to imagine him lacking in con- 
stancy and earnestness, even against the evidence he 
already possessed. 

They did a great deal of sight-seeing, but often 
they were together down in the slums on errands of 
mercy, and Allan found that Rodney was no stranger 
there, that in some of the darkest, dreariest spots a 
grateful pathetic welcome awaited him. 

A youth employed at one of the mission stations 
attracted Allan’s notice by the pains he took to 
avoid it. 

“I feel sure I have seen that fellow somewhere; 
yet it’s not likely, of course. Do you know his 
name?” 

Rodney evaded the question, and Allan puzzled 
over the perplexing resemblance till it became clear 
to him. 

“ Why, it ’s George Bolton ! ” 

“Yes,” Rodney answered. “He begged and 
tramped his way to the city, as I understand, with 
the idea of finding me. You may remember he used 
to be a sort of protege of mine.” 

“ I remember.” 

“ But he had never asked my address, fearing that 
might betray his whereabouts to his people. He must 
have had a hard time of it the first year. He was in 
bad shape when I came across him finally.” 


NOTHING BUT LEAVES. 


247 


He was before a magistrate on charge of theft, but 
that fact Rodney did not tell. 

‘‘And what is the prospect for him? He looks as 
hang-dog as ever.” 

“ Well,” hesitating, “ he had a bad beginning.” 

“ And little help afterwards,” said Allan, thinking 
of the help that came to him. 

“ Not till quite late. You remember what Ilosy 
used to say of garret grain : ‘ Like other seed, it 
wants to get an early start to do its best.’ But 
there’s always hope. 

‘ God ’s in liis heaven,’ 

and all will be right with the world. I think some- 
times of people like Mr. Bolton and these children, 
who have such drawbacks in the way of inherited 
tendencies and debasing surroundings, that if they 
can be kept from the grosser forms of evil, it is per- 
haps all we can expect. But I have been told of 
changes even down here, through God’s grace, that 
seemed as miraculous as raising the dead to life. 

“Here is another reason, Allan,” he continued, 
“ why I want to get out of the city. I could under- 
stand Hosy’s feeling better than he thought. It is 
horrible to me, the knowledge that, while we in one 
part of the city have everything heart can wish, in 
another part are want and destitution the most abso- 


248 


GABBET GBAIN. 


lute. I honestly believe there is as much sin up town 
as down, though it breaks out in crime oftenest below 
and then it shows plainer. The poor creatures’ souls 
are as bare as their bodies. One is hardly covered ; 
what do they care about shielding the other? I never 
mean to get so far away that I shall forget it and stop 
trying to help, but I feel as if I could breathe freer 
and sleep better a thousand miles away, where I can’t 
feel the caldron boiling under me all the time. It ’s 
awful, Allan.” 

“ It is awful,” the other assented. “Yet I’m not 
sorry I have seen and know something of it and of 
the noble souls working down here. You know I ’m 
naturally a selfish fellow, Rodney. Ah, you do know 
it though you may not admit it. Given my own com- 
fort and that of a few chosen friends, I don't feel much 
disturbed about the rest of the world. When Uncle 
Charley hears of an empty flour barrel and nothing to 
fill it, or a cold hearthstone, his first impulse is to send 
wheat or fuel, his first thought is the need. My first 
thought is a sort of anger with the people for getting 
into that condition ; the next, the bother and cost of 
helping. Yes, it is, Rodney. It is only the garret 
grain that has helped me overcome that a little.” 

“ I think the garret grain has choked the other 
pretty well out, Allan,” said Rodney, who knew that 
his friend spoke the truth. 


NOTHING BUT LEAVES. 


249 


“Not altogether ; I wish it had,” said Allan, taking 
Rodney’s arm. “ You must help keep me stirred up. 
When you see me getting hard and selfish put me 
in mind of what I was — would have been — with- 
out uncle’s goodness. Talk to me of such scenes 
as these.” He waved his hand back towards the 
wretched streets they were leaving. 

When Rodney had first proposed their visiting the 
slums together, Allan shrank from it with inexpres- 
sible dread. But he summoned his resolute will and 
went. As he said, he was not now sorry for going. 
He felt that he must accustom himself to meet his 
father’s memory wherever it might face him, and the 
sight of so much wretchedness, want, and woe not 
only made him unspeakably grateful for his own rescue 
but filled him with keen sympathy for and a desire to 
help those more unfortunate. Many a wretched child 
found comfort and a home because of Allan’s visits to 
the slums. 

Rodney had desired to give Allan a glimpse of the 
opposite phase of life — that to which his father’s 
wealth and social position gave him entrance. But 
Allan declined. 

“ I have nothing in common with it,” he said. “I 
should be as awkward and ill at ease as poor Hosy. 
Beside there is so much else to see and hear that will be 
of more value to me that I don’t want to take the time.” 


250 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“ There are two people I want to have you meet any- 
way,'*’ said Rodney and dragged him off to call on his 
father’s lawyer and man of business, Mr. Alfred 
Tremayne. 

But it was not Mr. Tremayne after all, Allan found, 
that Rodney wanted him especially to see. Mr. Tre- 
mayne was out, they were told, whereat Rodney man- 
ifested no concern but asked immediately for Miss 
Tremayne. In a few moments they were conducted to 
a pleasant homelike room and received by a young 
lady whom Rodney, with the familiarity of an old 
friend, greeted as “Miss Jennie.” 

The name and the fact that when she rose to meet 
them he saw she was slightly lame made Allan think 
of Jenny Stewart. Her manner was very gentle and 
quiet. He liked her face too ; it broke into such 
prefty dimples and smiles as she talked to Rodney 
on — of all things — the work in the slums. Allan 
wondered as he listened — he was always rather silent 
with strangers — how a girl so delicate and refined, a 
cripple too, understood so well the needs of that deso- 
late quarter under discussion. But Rodney talked as 
if she were familiar with it all, and indeed she seemed 
to be. 

They made quite a long call. Allan enjoyed it 
though he said but little. As they took their depart- 
ure she said to him : “ I hope we shall meet again, Mr. 


NOTHING BUT LEAVES . 


251 


Foster.” He found himself answering earnestly, “ I 
sincerely hope we shall.” 

“ She is not at all my ideal of a fashionable young 
lady,” he said to Rodney after they had taken their 
leave. 

“ Nor mine; nor an} T bodv’s. She is a lovely, true- 
hearted woman. I knew you could not help liking 
Jennie Tremayne. And her father is an honest man 
if he is a lawyer.” 

When the young men reached home they found the 
whole house in confusion. A physician’s carriage 
stood at the door and the footman ran halfway down 
to meet them. “Mr. Rodney, we’ve been sending 
everywhere for you. Mr. Ellis has had a fit.” 

A fit from which he never rallied. When the shades 
of evening fell, the business which had taken the place 
of wife, of home, of child — yea, of his very soul — 
dropped forever from the brain and hands of Stephen 
Ellis. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


RICHES HAVE WINGS 


ODNEY sent at once for Mr. Wyatt. His 



-L v father had a brother and several sisters, and 
there were plenty of other relatives and so-called 
friends to fill the house of mourning, but Rodney 
turned to the two he knew and loved the best — his 
uncle and Allan. 

He had loved his father, and yet — alas for the 
master passion that dims or deadens every tie ! — how 
little part had either possessed in the other’s life ! 

They stood together by the casket — the two who 
loved him best, who alone of all within the house really 
loved the dead man lying there: The relatives and 
friends wondered how rich poor Stephen really was, 
and how they had been remembered in the will. The 
servants talked among themselves of his arbitrary 
ways and compared them with Rodney’s pleasanter 
ones. 

His debtors were relieved, for he was a stern cred- 
itor. His creditors hastened to make up their ac- 
counts ; already there were rumors afloat. But Mr. 
Wyatt, knowing naught of these, looked sorrowfully 


252 


H I CUES HAVE WINGS. 


253 


down on the face of his old friend and in the world’s 
blazon of success mourned for a wasted life. 

“There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth ; and 
there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it 
tendeth to poverty.” 

The awful poverty of the soul ! The same thought 
like an electric spark flashed from the mind of the 
elder into the mind of the younger man. Rodney 
turned with an imploring cry: “Uncle, uncle, was 
there anything I could have done or said ? ” 

“ No, lad, dear lad. He made his own choice years 
ago, made it with his eyes open and clung to it to the 
end. See how worn his poor face is, furrowed like 
an old, old man’s. Ah, he carried a heavy burden, 
Rodney, his own will. God’s yoke is lighter. Poor 
Steve ! as warm a heart as yours, my boy ; as gener- 
ous a spirit before the world chilled it. Always my 
friend and your father, Rodney. He is with the 
loving Lord, who made him.” 

There was great funeral pomp ; there were flowers 
and solemn music and a long service. At last it was 
all over and they gathered to hear the reading of the 
will. 

The relatives, who expected to be mentioned in it, 
were disappointed. The document was very brief 
and had evidently been drawn up shortly after his 
visit to the House Blessed. Except a few small 


254 


GARRET GRAIN. 


bequests, including one of five thousand dollars to 
Charles Wyatt “ for his fatherly care of my son,” 
everything was left to Rodney, and Mr. Wyatt was 
appointed administrator. 

Rodney was already of age. There was nothing to 
do but settle up the estate, pay off creditors and 
bequests, and pass the property over to the heir. 
Allan supposed it would be a very simple operation ; 
it sounded so when stated as above. Mr. Wyatt’s 
experience had taught him differently. He had 
already been chosen many times for a similar office, 
but even he had no conception of the labor involved 
in settling up such a business as that of the late 
broker. If it had not been for the assistance of Mr. 
Tremayne, he would have been inclined to give up the 
task in despair. 

Even Mr. Tremayne was not aware of many of his 
employer’s operations, especially those conducted by 
questionable means sometimes called “ sharp busi- 
ness” methods, for he was an honorable, upright man. 
An examination into the dead man’s affairs at once 
revealed a state of great confusion. 

Stephen Ellis himself, with his vast experience and 
unscrupulous sharpness, might have carried most of 
the operations he was engaged upon forward to success 
or withdrawn from them without heavy loss. No 
one else could, certainly not the two who were 


BICHES HAVE WINGS. 


255 


endeavoring to bring order out of chaos with the 
one idea of being honest and just, no matter what 
the result. 

Patiently they unraveled the tangle, and steadily 
the supposed great fortune dwindled, till it became 
doubtful whether there would be sufficient to satisfy 
the claims on the estate. 

When this seemed probable, Mr. Wyatt offered to 
withdraw from his office or continue the work with 
any one Rodney might choose as an additional adviser. 
The young man refused positively to listen to any 
change. 

“ Go straight ahead, uncle. If anything is left, 
well ; if not, well, though I own I shall be disap- 
pointed. But I know that you and Mr. Tremayne 
will do the best you can for me and be fair to the 
others.” 

“ At least the young fellow will have his mother’s 
property to fall back upon,” said Mr. Tremayne at 
their very next consultation. “ Mr. Ellis was always 
careful not to run any risks with that.” 

“ His mother’s property!” said Mr. Wyatt in 
surprise. 

“Yes; he knows nothing about it. X presume 
Mr. Ellis intended to make it over to him when he left 
college, but it was his wish that the boy should not 
know of it till then. It must amount to sixty or 


256 


GARRET GRAIN. 


seventy thousand dollars by this time. What’s the 
matter?” 

The astonishment in Mr. Wyatt’s face was so great 
that the lawyer was astonished in his turn. 

“Matter, Mr. Tremayne ! The only property that 
my sister possessed was a fourth interest in the home- 
stead, which still remains, and for which I have always 
paid a yearly rent.” 

The two men looked at each other in silence. 
“There must be a will,” said Mr. Tremayne at 
length. “He used to sign the papers as adminis- 
trator.” 

He knew where the securities representing the 
money were kept, and the will was found with them. 
It was very brief, dated a few weeks before the testa- 
tor’s death and devised all she died possessed of to 
her son Rodney. 

“There is no doubt about the genuineness of it, 
is there?” Mr. Tremayne asked in a low tone, observ- 
ing the gravity with which his companion examined 
the paper. 

“ None. I would swear to my sister’s signature 
anywhere in the world.”. 

“Then in heaven’s name, man, why look so solemn? 
He may have given her the original amount on some 
anniversary.” 

Mr. Wyatt laid the paper down and turned his 


BICHES HAVE WINGS. 


257 


troubled face towards his companion. Their brief 
acquaintance had resulted in mutual esteem. 

“My sister and myself were in constant corre- 
spondence. If he had made her such a gift, I should 
almost certainly have known of it.” 

“ But you did not know of the will.” 

“ That you see was made very near the close of her 
life.” 

“ You think, then,” said the lawyer, reflecting, 
“that, being already engaged in speculation and 
recognizing the risks, he had her make this will in 
order to keep something secure for the boy under it in 
case his business ventures failed. He certainly had a 
long head.’ 

“ And not always an honest heart,” said Mr. Wyatt 
sadly. 

After a pause the lawyer asked : ‘ 4 What are you 
going to do about it?” 

“Advise Rodney to let us put these securities in 
with the rest.” 

“ It will leave him nothing, absolutely nothing. 
If I were certain that it had been done with intent to 
defraud, but — Can we not give the boy the benefit 
of the doubt? Pardon me, Mr. Wyatt, but when 
Stephen Ellis trusted his son and his affairs so im- 
plicitly in your hands, do you think he imagined you 
would counsel such a step as this?” 


258 


GARRET GRAIN. 


The farmer rose from his chair and paced the floor* 
greatly agitated. “ I would give my life rather than 
wrong the boy. It is bitter to believe such things of a 
man I loved as I loved Stephen Ellis ; yet you, your- 
self, cannot deny the probability. I felt it from the 
moment I saw Alice’s will. It was unlike her to make 
one ; there was no need. No,” he spoke more quietly 
but with equal resolution, “ I should advise Rodney to 
devote this money to the claims first, under any cir- 
cumstances. Under these doubtful ones, I cannot 
consent to his retaining it.” 

To Mr. Wyatt’s disappointment Rodney took issue 
with him at once. 

“ I confess I fail to see, uncle, why I should use 
money that my mother left me to pay my father’s 
debts. The creditors are mostly wealthy men and big 
corporations. If they were needy I would not refuse, 
but even then it would be a question of generosity, 
not of right.” 

“But to clear your father’s name — to leave no 
shadow of reproach upon his memory.” 

“ I do not dispute the right of his creditors, sir, 
to every penny that was his, unless their claims are 
satisfied with less. This other, however, was my 
mother’s. If under his management it has increased, 
it was none the less hers and therefore mine.” 

“I am obliged then, Rodney,” said his uncle sor- 


BICHES HAVE WINGS. 


259 


row fully , x u to speak more plainly. Believe me, it 
cannot hurt you more to hear than me to speak.” As 
delicately as possible he explained the peculiar cir- 
cumstances connected with the making of the will. 

Anger flushed Rodney’s face. “ You have no proof 
of intended wrong — not *a shadow. My father’s 
friends” — a strong emphasis on the word — “ should 
not be so ready to think ill of him. I have freely 
given up everything else ; I shall keep this.” 

“Then,” said Mr. Wyatt gravely, “I must ask to 
be relieved from my office of administrator.” 

“Very well, sir; suit yourself,” Rodney answered 
sullenly ; and for the first time in their lives uncle 
and nephew found themselves at variance. 

Mr. Wyatt and his nephews had been invited to 
dine with Mr. Tremayne. Rodney declined on the 
plea of business and shut himself in his room. Mr. 
Wyatt and Allan were glad to leave the house. The 
latter had wished to return home some time before, 
but Rodney clung to him and was so reluctant to have 
him go that Allan felt it was a friend’s part to remain. 

“Rodney was very unlike himself at lunch,” he 
said to his uncle. “Has anything more unpleasant 
than usual happened?” 

To Allan the whole business of settlement seemed 
very unpleasant. He could not avoid hearing many 
of the details and he felt keenly the bitterness it must 


260 


GARRET GRAIN. 


be to Rodney, not so much to lose the property as 
to have his respect for his dead father constantly 
threatened by the revelations that were made. 

Mr. Wyatt was more anxious and troubled than he 
had ever been in his life. Mr. Tremayne’s appeal to 
him, Rodney’s determination to retain the property 
which was in his mother’s name and his evident dis- 
pleasure at the suggestion of giving it up, the pos- 
sibility that he had misjudged his friends — all tended 
to coufuse his usual clear conception of duty. It was 
a relief to state the case to Allan, in whom he knew 
he might safely confide. 

Was it due to the training of the House Blessed 
that this young man, the son of a thief, never faltered 
in' the nicest distinctions between mine and thine? 
Allan’s idea of honesty was never clouded by “ifs” 
or “ buts.” “If a thing is not absolutely and clearly 
mine, it is not mine at all,” was his creed. 

“I don’t see, uucle, how you could possibly do any 
differently,” was his brief decided comment, and it 
lifted a weight from Mr. Wyatt’s mind. 

Allan had expected to feel his usual shyness with 
Miss Tremayne, unsupported by Rodney’s presence ; 
he was quite sure of it when the two elder gentlemen 
after a little fell upon the topic just then of para- 
mount interest to both, Rodney and his mother’s will. 
There were no other guests and Mr. Tremayne must 


BICHES HAVE WINGS. 


261 


have had the same confidence in his daughter that Mr. 
Wyatt had in Allan, for he did not hesitate to speak 
freely. 

They may also have supposed that the young man 
and maiden had topics of more interest to themselves 
to discuss as they sat a little apart. But their ac- 
quaintance was too recent, though they did refer to 
that matter which Rodney and Miss Tremayne talked 
so freely about when Allan made his first call. 

The elder members of the little company were, how- 
ever, so interested in their subject that Allan and Miss 
Tremayne found themselves listening in spite of every 
effort to sustain an independent conversation. And 
suddenly the 3 7 oung lady turned to Allan with the 
question, “ What do you think your friend will do?” 

“ I don’t know,” he answered reluctantly ; then, with 
a flash of shamed remembrance, “I do know too. He 
will remember ‘ garret grain. ’ ” 

Then as the soft eyes widened he smiled and told 
her the story of the old house. 

The interest in her face stirred Allan to do his best ; 
the story was never better told. “It is beautiful,” 
she said when he had finished, and turned a gentle, 
earnest gaze on Mr. Wyatt. “ He looks,” she said 
softly, “as if he came from a home like that.” 

“ He is the best man in all the world,” his nephew 
answered. 


262 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“ In your world,” said Miss Tremayne playfully. 

“In mine certainly,” said Allan adopting her tone. 

“And you and Rodney Ellis have always been 
friends? ” 

“Not always,” Allan said, flushing, “ but true 
friends now, I hope.” 

“ Tell me,” she urged, “ more about your home.” 

He did not mean to ; he felt that he had said enough 
on such a merely personal topic and tried to change 
the subject. Yet in a few moments she was smiling 
over Hosy, looking tender over the episode of Mr. 
Bolton; and when Mr. Wyatt said: “ Allan, it is ten 
o’clock and we are country folks,” the young man 
started up, exclaiming, “ What must you think of me? 
I have talked the whole evening of just our little home 
affairs ! ” 

“ What do I think? ” she said, holding out her hand 
in farewell. “ That you come from the House Blessed 
and have brought me some garret grain.” 

She rose and moved with her slightly halting step 
toward Mr. Wyatt. “ She would be graceful if she 
were not lame,” thought Allan, watching her. “ What 
a sweet woman ! I meant to tell her more of Rodney ; 
I know she likes him. What a selfish fellow I am ! ” 

Rodney came lounging into Allan’s room. “ You 
had a pleasant evening, I suppose,” he said. 

Allan answered with enthusiasm. 


BICHES HAVE WINGS. 


263 


“ Yes, I knew you and Mr. Tremayne had a good 
deal in common. You ’re going to make just such 
another square, resolute, solid, sensible individual. 
Found you agreed pretty well, did n’t you?” 

“ Why, yes, I suppose so. The fact is he and uncle 
were mostly occupied with each other.” 

“ And you talked with Jennie. She’s a dear little 
soul, quiet and stedfast. You would never suppose 
she had been one of the gayest of the gay, would 
you ? ” 

“ Hardly. Then she has n’t always been lame? ” 

1 1 No ; it was an accident — thrown from the carriage 
three years ago. They said she prayed to die at first. 
She was only eighteen, just entering society. She had 
to give all that up of course, but I don’t know any one 
busier now in other ways than she.” 

Rodney spoke absently ; he was evidently thinking 
of something else ; what, was quickly apparent. 

“ Allan, don’t you think I have a right to keep prop- 
erty that my mother left me ? ” 

“ Yes,” was the swift reply, “ if all debts are paid.” 
“ Debts ! ” Rodney straightened himself. “ She had 
none. Why should her money be used to pay his ? ” 
As Allan did not answer he continued : “ The cred- 
itors ought to be satisfied ; they have everything else. 
They are rich men, to whom my mother’s little property 
would be but a drop ; selfish men, too, and hard-hearted. 


264 


GABBET GBAIN. 


The most I care for the money is to do some good with 
it — to help others.” 

“I know you would,” Allan answered earnestly. 

Rodney turned eagerly towards him. “ There are a 
dozen cases I know of this moment where a little 
money would make all the difference between hope and 
despair, between honor and dishonesty. Those men 
would waste a dozen times what is required on one 
dinner.” 

“I know it is a hard case ; but, after all, that is only' 
a side issue. The question you ’ve got to settle, it 
appears to me, is just this : Is this money rightfully 
mine without the shadow of anybody else’s claim upon 
it? Answer Yes, keep it. Answer No, and you can’t 
get rid of it too quick.” 

“If those men were needy at all,” said Rodney 
moodily — “and I would use it in so much better 
ways.” 

“If a man were the richest in the world and I the 
poorest — I don’t say it for boasting, Rodney — I’d 
want to pay my debt to him if it took my last cent.” 

“Your debt, perhaps, not somebody else’s. It’s 
easy to talk of giving up money when one has never 
had it to lose. You don’t know how hard it comes.” 

“ That is true enough,” said Allan as Rodney left 
the room. 

Rodney was in quite his usual mood next day, treat- 


RICHES HAVE WINGS. 


265 


ing his uncle with extra respect and kindness as if to 
make up for his resentful manner of the day previous. 
But his face was quite resolute ; he had no idea evi- 
dently of retreating from his position. 

Allan said decidedly that three days more must close 
his visit. Mr. Wyatt looked at him wistfully and drew 
him aside to say: “Wait until next week, Allan. If 
Rodney persists in his present resolution, I shall ask 
to be released from the administratorship, and we will 
return together. ,, 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


MORE OF THE HARVEST. 

D EAR MR. WYATT, — You spoke of wishing to visit one 
of the down-town missions. If you and Mr. Foster have 
no other engagement, I shall be glad to have you accompany me 
this afternoon. Very truly yours, 

Jennie Tremayne. 

The carriage stopped at the curb before the mission. 
Even before the door was opened, Allan heard a cry. 
“There she is! there’s Miss Jennie!” He sprang 
out first, almost alighting on the toes of a child with a 
ragged shawl over her head, peering eagerly in at the 
carriage window. Mr. Wyatt stepped out beside him, 
and then Allan lifted their hostess carefully down^ 

“ You have mother and sisters, I know,” she said, 
smiling. “That proves it; you did it with the ease 
of long practice. I might have been the proverbial 
feather.” 

Then a basket was handed out, full of the loveliest 
flowers. She was already surrounded by a clamorous 
constituency, holding out eager hands, and the basket 
was rapidly emptied, save the one bunch reserved for 
the mission room. 


MOBE OF THE HARVEST. 


267 


“ She, too, Allan,” said Mr. Wyatt, watching her 
delightedly, 44 is sowing garret grain.” 

44 Ah, I know what that means,” said Miss Tre- 
mayne, looking up from her distribution. 44 Mr. Foster 
told me the beautiful story.” 

The flowers were all gone, but the constituency still 
lingered. 

44 Miss Jennie, the doctor says Tommy may ride 
to-morrow.” 

44 Miss Jennie, the baby hurted himself awful.” 

44 Miss Jennie, they Ve sent Maggie to the Island.” 

She had a word of sympathy and promise for each, 
bending over the ragged, unkempt little crowd like a 
guardian angel. One by one she dismissed them, and 
they moved slowly away, with eyes still turning back 
to her till she passed out of sight. 

Who shall write fitting words of those noble souls 
who go down into the deeps of our great city to battle 
with its vice and misery? Who shall measure the 
sacrifice, the unceasing labor, the infinite patience? 
Seed sown with weeping, sown with prayers ; will God 
give the increase? Yea, surely. Here and there 
already the waiting eyes behold a sheaf, but only 
from the heights of heaven shall they see the full 
harvest. 

As the three friends entered the mission room, a 
young man with closely cropped hair, quick, keen eyes, 


268 


GABBET GBAIN. 


clothing poor and coarse but clean, looked up at them 
as they passed the bench where he sat. He glanced 
carelessly at Allan, responded respectfully to Miss 
Tremayne’s bow ; but at the sight of Mr. Wyatt’s face 
he started and leaned forward. Afterwards he scarcely 
looked away from it at all, except when the heads 
were bowed in prayer ; he even changed his seat for 
one whence he had a better view of the person who 
claimed his attention. 

And the congregation gathered. Such figures, such 
faces, such rags, such squalor ! Such pitiful attempts 
to make the best of their poor raiment, such flaunting 
sin, such despair, such old, old creatures with the 
shape and size of children, such awful, awful misery 
and need ! 

‘‘Merciful Father in heaven!” said Mr. Wyatt, 
grasping Allan’s arm. “I believe my heart will 
break.” 

It was several minutes before he could recover him- 
self, and then it was to break down anew as the brief, 
touching bits of testimony began. 

For He whose life was spent, whose blood was shed 
for such as these, had found his own through all the 
maze of ignorance, wretchedness, and sin. One after 
another told this fact in broken words, in uncouth sen- 
tences, in a strange language, in whispers that could 
scarce be heard ; one after another cried out to Christ, 


MORE OF THE HARVEST. 


269 


with their bruised hearts’ longiug or thanked him for 
a gleam of brightness in their shadowed lives. 

Suddenly there rose in his place the young man with 
the keen eyes, and as he spoke he never took them 
from Mr. Wyatt’s face. 

“ A good many of you know me,” he said. “ Some 
of you maybe knowed me a dozen years or more ago, 
when I was one of the toughest kids in Baxter Street. 
My dad worked a bit and drank a heap. Mother was 
dead, I reckon ; there was a woman living in the den 
that gave us a bite sometimes and a blow some- 
times, oftener the blow than the bite. I begged 
or stole most of my grub and slept anywhere it 
was handy. 

“There come a man into our street one day; I’d 
never seen a face that looked like his, though I 
thought I ’d seen all sorts — parsons and police and 
thieves and big bugs. His looked as if the light was 
shining through it. He only asked me where a house 
was, but his voice was so good to hear that I went to 
show him so ’s to hear it again and to watch his face. 
And he told me he ’d come from a long ways off, from 
a place where the grass growed under your feet, and 
the trees was like a garden, where the birds sang 
and where was the blue sky, and God over it all. 
Mind you, he said, God over it all. 

“Well, I dreamed of that man and that place many 


270 


GARRET GRAIN. 


a time. I was bad enough, but I might have been 
worse lots of times only for thinking of that man 
and that place. Somehow I kept thinking I might 
see him and it some day, and I felt as you ’d feel 
about taking hold of them white flowers of Miss 
Jennie’s — as if I ’d like to be halfway clean. There ’s 
dark years behind me, God forgive me ; but they 
might have been darker yet, if I had n’t had that 
man to think about and a-hopin’ to see that place 
some day. 

“ When I got there to the mission I thought of my 
man more ’n ever. I knowed pretty soon where the 
light came from that I see in his face, and when Jesus 
forgave me and washed the street dirt off my soul, I 
knowed I ’d see that place or one like it in heaven 
and meet that man there if I never saw him on 
earth. 

“ But I do see him and I thank God for it. And I 
want him to know what the thought of him has been 
to me all these years ; that it was him first that set 
me to thinking about something better than Baxter 
Street.” 

He sat down. “ Let us pray,” said Mr. Wyatt, 
standing up. “Our Father in heaven, bless these 
dear ones — bless and help them every one.” Then 
he dropped back again and cried like a child. 

He and his quondam guide could hardly get to each 


MOBE OF THE HAB VEST. 


271 


other quick enough after the meeting closed. Miss 
Tremayne, quite overcome, hid her face in her hand- 
kerchief. When she looked up presently, she noticed 
that Allan was very pale. 

He met her glance ; the moisture stood upon his 
forehead ; it seemed as if speech were forced from 
him. Afterwards he blessed the impulse that seemed 
so strange and weak. 

“ I, too, came from Baxter Street. If it had not 
been for uncle, that young man’s story might have 
been mine — or worse. He guided uncle that morn- 
ing to the house where my father died the death 
of a hunted criminal.” 

The face looking up at his was like the face of an 
angel ; the slender hand slipped itself through his 
arm. “Come, my friend,” said Jennie Tremayne; 
and the feeling of miserable shame fell from Allan 
like a cloud. 

Ben cast a quick glance at Allan when he heard his 
name, but it was Allan himself who referred to the 
past. “ When you met uncle that morning he was 
searching for my sister and myself. I have lived with 
him on the place he told you of ever since.” 

“ And lucky for you,” said Ben, his eyes tilled with 
a pathetic regret. 

“ Give me your address,” said Mr. Wyatt, produc- 
ing his note book; “if you really think you would 


272 


GABBET GBAIN. 


be satisfied to remain in the country, I think I can 
find you a place.” 

The regret changed to eagerness. “ If you could 
— it’s been my heart’s wish ever since. But I 
don’t know how to work at that kind. I ’ve been 
doing anything I could get since I quit loafing. I 
had a bad name to live down. There was no one to 
recommend me.” 

“ I will, Ben,” said Miss Tremayne. 

“Thank you, Miss Jennie. I’ll try to deserve 
it.” 

They went home together, those three so recently 
strangers, and were like old familiar friends. Jennie 
told the two gentlemen more of Ben Makart, his 
struggle with temptation, his efforts after years of 
idleness to earn an honest living. 

“ One of the greatest obstacles in the upward path 
of so many,” she told them, “ is their not knowing 
how to do even the commonest kinds of work well. 
You know that General Booth refers to that in his 
book. The thing that most impresses me with the 
wisdom of his plan is the provision he makes to meet 
this lack. People cry constantly : ‘ Why don’t this 
surplus population go out into the country and work? 
The farmers need them ; the city has more than 
enough.’ How many farmers would have patience 
with their untrained muscles, their ignorance of coun- 


MORE OF THE HARVEST. 


273 


try ways and methods? How many would even want 
them in their rags and with habits of uncleanliness? 
Oh, it is easy to sit in comfortable homes and say 
what these poor creatures ought to do and be.” 

“When you get back to the House Blessed,” she 
said in bidding them farewell, “don’t forget the 
homes unblessed.” 

“ As if we ever could again,” said Mr. Wyatt, 
sighing. 

Rodney met them in the hall on their return. He 
put a hand on each of his uncle’s shoulders and looked 
affectionately into his face. 

“It’s no use. I can’t get away from the old 
garret, uncle. The big chimney with that crooked 
Golden Rule has been following me about all day. 
Put those securities in with the rest.” 

“ There speaks your mother’s son,” said Mr. Wyatt 
warmly ; “it is what she would have wished, I know, 
under any circumstances.” 

Allan set his shoulder against his friend’s. “ I 
knew you would do it,” he said. 

“ If you had the bringing up of all the young men 
in the country, Mr. Wyatt,” said Mr. Tremayne when 
Rodney’s decision was made known to him, “ what do 
you suppose would become of us lawyers ? ” 

“There will always be room for justice and judg- 
ment in God’s universe,” said Mr. Wyatt. 


274 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“But law, unfortunately, is often neither. Ah, 
well ! the profession will continue during my time.” 

The settlement of the estate drew near a conclusion. 
When all the claims were fully and completely satis- 
fied, Rodney found himself the possessor of his 
mother’s share in the homestead and a few T thousand 
dollars beside. The bequests, except the one to Mr. 
Wyatt, were paid ; Mr. Wyatt refused even the cus- 
tomary fees. 

“And now, Uncle Charley,” said Rodney after the 
final settlement was over, “ since you’ve made ducks 
and drakes of my fortune, what are you going to do 
with me ? ” 

“I have no doubt,” said Mr. Wyatt demurely, 
“ that Mr. Tremayne would let you study law with 
him.” 

“ He is extremely kind.” 

“ Or Mr. Carnes will give you a place in the bank.” 

“ He also is extremely kind.” 

“ I have a friend or two in business in Cleveland, 
who might do something for you, if you prefer to try 
the West.” 

Their eyes met. 

“ Ah, my Uncle Charley, you are not kind at all. 
Do you still need my seventy-five acres for sheep 
pasture ? ” 

“ Oh, your seventy-five acres,” said Mr. Wyatt, as 


MORE OF THE HARVEST. 


275 


if he thought of them for the first time. “ No; you 
can lease or sell them at any time. With the extra 
land across the creek, we have more than any two men 
can handle — especially as I ’m getting old and ” — 
Rodney threw an arm around his neck. “ And you 
want another. Here he is, poor but honest, sound in 
mind and body, no bad habits, and crazy to get to 
work. Hurrah for the House Blessed !” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


“a sea-change.” 


But cloth suffer a sea-change, 
Into something rich and strange. 


ROM the Atlantic coast to the Pacific, from 



winter to eternal spring, from New York to 
Santa Barbara ! 

An elderly lady sat on one of the balconies of the 
Cottage Alano, enjoying the mild air of the Pacific. 
Her position commanded a view of the broad street 
leading to the wharf, and every little while she 
adjusted her eyeglasses and scanned it anxiously. 

“Gertrude is taking a very long walk,” she com- 
plained, addressing some one in the room behind her. 

“ You were asleep, Mrs. Taggart, when she went,” 
replied the person addressed, “ and I told her to take 
her own time, but I would stay right here ; I presume 
she has taken some of the children with her.” 

“ Yes, I suppose she lias. Gertrude’s greatest fault 
is that she is too amiable. Those children impose 
upon her. Have you heard yet, Sophy, who is to 
have these rooms opposite ours?” 


276 


A SEA-CHANGE. 


277 


“The lady’s name is Morrison, so the chambermaid 
told me. She is a widow with one son, the super- 
intendent of the Camyens ranch.” 

“I had a schoolmate whose daughter married a 
Morrison,” said Mrs. Taggart, swinging her glasses 
thoughtfully, “ Marian Prevost. They were a good 
family, the Prevosts. Marian’s daughter moved out 
near Toledo somewhere. There ’s Gertrude now.” 

Did ever this trim, graceful girl, who waves her 
hand to the observer, daintiness itself from the crown 
of her hat to the sole of her shoe — did she ever sit 
on the floor of an old garret with torn gown, button- 
less boots, and uncombed hair, pencil marks on nose 
and chin, forehead knotted up into frowns in a vain 
attempt to capture frolicsome rhymes? Is this Trudie 
of the House Blessed ? 

It is Trudie’s voice, certainly, that begins an ani- 
mated description of their walk. Mrs. Taggart lis- 
tened, watching her contentedly. She took all the 
credit of Gertrude to herself. “Think, Sophy,” she 
was wont to say, “ what an awkward, unformed crea- 
ture she was when she came to us ! ” 

“Beyond her being a bit untidy then, and a few 
years older now, ma’am, I can’t see such a dreadful 
change,” Mrs. Dawes was wont to reply. “ She came 
from good hands.” 

This Mrs. Taggart allowed more and more grudg- 




278 


GARRET GRAIN. 


ingly. She was jealous of the hold the House Blessed 
still had on her young companion, whom she always 
spoke of as her adopted daughter, though never hav- 
ing taken the necessary legal steps to make her such. 

“Gertrude,” she said, when that young lady had 
finished her recital, “ those new people are really com- 
ing, Sophy says. A widow lady with one son.” 

“ I wish it was one daughter so I might have a com- 
panion in my rambles.” 

u Companion ! I should think you had enough of 
them. You never go anywhere without from two to 
six children trotting after you.” 

“ Oh, the children ! That ’s different. Is that letter 
on the mantel for me, Sophy?” 

She crossed the room to get it. 

“ Well, what are Mrs. Wyatt’s family doing now? ” 
asked Mrs. Taggart, as Gertrude ran her eye over the 
closely written pages. “It’s from Mabel, I presume. 
Your brother rarely fills more than a sheet.” 

“Busy with the early spring work,” answered Ger- 
trude, intent on her letter. 

“ Milking cows and cleaning house ; cooking, wash- 
ing, and ironing from morning till night the t year 
round. I should think you would be thankful for 
your escape.” 

“The work never seemed hard, Aunt Taggart ; Aunt 
Emily knew just how to manage. And there w r ere so 


A SEA-CHANGE. 


279 


many of us. Just think what Mabel has done this 
winter — finished the Chautauqua course and read Ger- 
man with Rodney besides several English books ; and 
I don’t know a word of German.” 

Mrs. Taggart shrugged her shoulders. “I have 
had a letter too. Well, is that all your news?” 

“Rodney and Allan are going to work the two 
farms. All together again — all together but me,” 
Gertrude sighed. 

“ Work on a farm ! ” said Mrs. Taggart. “ O? all 
things ! I thought he was the most foolish fellow I 
ever heard of when he gave up his mother’s money. 
But this is worse. With his education and training, 
to bury himself on a farm ! ” 

“ He always liked it,” rejoined her niece. 

“It is one thing to board at such a place and 
another to do the work upon it,” dryly. “ Welf, any- 
thing more ? ” 

“ No, only their plans and their good times. Oh, 
Aunt Taggart, can’t you spare rne to go home this 
summer? ” 

“I had a letter too,” said Mrs. Taggart, evad- 
ing the question with manifest displeasure. “ My 
brother’s youngest daughter has been left a widow 
without means and with one child. She is quite 
anxious to make her home with me.” 

“The poor little woman whose husband was sick so 


280 


GABBET GBAIN. 


long ? ” Gertrude had entered the room and was 
brushing her hair. She came to the window with the 
brush in her hand. “ The very thing, Aunt Taggart. 
She needs a home.” 

Mrs. Taggart wrinkled her eyeglasses impatiently 
from her nose. Gertrude had not received the news 
at all as she meant to have her. “And what would 
you do, pray? I cannot take care of all my needy 
relations.” 

“ My home is with Allan and Uncle Wyatt,” said 
Gertrude, returning to her toilet. 

“ I certainly don’t understand how you can bear to 
go back and be a burden on your uncle.” Mrs. Tag- 
gart spoke with asperity, and this time her niece did 
not answer. 

The older lady was plaintive and sullen by turns 
until they went down to dinner, when the discovery 
that Mrs. Morrison occupied the seat opposite her 
own restored her equanimity. She was graciously 
cordial, and the new-comer, a lady dressed in deep- 
est mourning, after several inquiring glances asked : 
“I beg pardon; but are you not the Mrs. Taggart 

who used to live at No. — Twenty th Street, in 

New York?” 

“I am indeed, and you must be Marian Prevost’s 
daughter. I have not seen you since you were 
a child.” 


A SEA- CHANGE. 


281 


Question and answer followed rapidly. It was not 
until the tide of reminiscence slackened somewhat 
that Mrs. Taggart remembered Gertrude, whom she 
introduced as usual: “My adopted daughter, Miss 
Gertrude Taggart.” 

“ I have met Mrs. Morrison before, I believe,” said 
Gertrude, blushing prettily, “though I presume she 
does not remember me.” 

As Mrs. Morrison evidently did not, Gertrude 
added: “It was in a New York sleeping-car that 
left Cleveland on a certain evening nearly six years 
ago.” 

Mrs. Morrison cried out eagerly: “Are you that 
dear child? What a ministering angel she was to 
me, Mrs. Taggart ! O my poor, poor Nelly ! She 
died, Miss Taggart, two days after I reached her, and 
the dear baby did not live a month. And now Mr. 
Morrison is gone.” 

Kecovering her composure after a few moments, 
she reiterated her pleasure at seeing Gertrude again. 
“You have certainly changed; yet as I look longer 
at you* my dear, I recognize the expression and smile 
of my dear little friend. I have thought of you grate- 
fully many times. Why, Louis, you are late ! ” 

A young man was shown to the vacant seat at her 
side. He made a low reply, and Mrs. Morrison called 
his attention to the ladies opposite. “ I have found 


282 


GABBET GBAIN. 


two old friends, Louis. Mrs. Taggart, Miss Taggart, 
my son.” 

“What a bandboxy individual ! ” thought Gertrude, 
scarcely able to repress a smile at Mr. Morrison’s 
elaborate bow. The superintendent of the Camyeus 
ranch had already been dubbed in Western vernacular 
“ a rustler,” but the casual observer saw very little 
evidence of such a character. 

The friendship between Mrs. Taggart and the 
daughter of her former friend ripened rapidly into in- 
timacy, but the chief attraction was Gertrude herself. 

“For my dear mother’s friend, Louis,” said Mrs. 
Morrison to her son, “ was always a little peculiar, 
aud her peculiarities have not lessened with increasing 
years. She keeps that sweet girl almost a prisoner. 
What a sweet girl she is ! ” 

“ Louis admires Miss Gertrude very much,” she told 
Mrs. Taggart. “Aud Louis is very fastidious. He 
says she makes him think of the picture 4 Thorough- 
bred.’ Her manner is so delightful.” 

Mrs. Taggart repeated the encomium to her niece. 
“They are very particular about family, she and her 
son both. Pray be careful, Gertrude, not to talk 
before them of your former life — especially your 
name ; of course it is not an uncommon one, but 
really,” said Mrs. Taggart, twisting her hands ner- 
vously, as she always did when referring to this 


A SEA-CHANGE . 


283 


subject, “ there are such distressing recollections con- 
nected with it that I beg for both our sakes you will 
be content with mine while with me.” 

Gertrude alternately flushed and paled while listen- 
ing to her aunt. Surely to no one could those recol- 
lections be more distressing than to herself. She was 
quite accustomed to being addressed by that lady’s 
name, her own appearing only on letters from the 
House Blessed. And she was conscious of a growing 
dread of the name which belonged to her. Her aunt’s 
horror had not failed to influence her ; and another 
influence now was having weight. 

She would have laughed when they first met at the 
thought that Louis Morrison’s good or bad opinion 
could ever disturb her in the least. He seemed so 
foppish, so cynical, so indifferent to things she held 
sacred. But Morrison was by no means a mere fop. 
He had intelligence, resolution, perseverance. His 
manner to his mother was always courteous aud 
affectionate. It was that latter fact indeed that 
caused Gertrude to change her first unfavorable 
opinion of him. 

She loved Mrs. Morrison, and Mrs. Morrison idol- 
ized her son. Naturally the mother believed him the 
embodiment of every virtue and desired that Gertrude 
should see him with her eyes. 

“ Louis has been on his uncle’s ranch four years,” 


284 


GARRET GRAIN. 


she told Mrs. Taggart and her niece. “And though 
Mr Camyens is only his aunt’s husband he thinks as 
much of Louis as if he were his son. Since they went 
East two years ago Louis has had full charge, and Mr. 
Camyens is so pleased that he talks of taking him in 
as partner next year. Louis was quite young when he 
began there, but Mr. Camyens said he felt no hesita- 
tion in trusting him ; he knew the stock he came from.” 

She laughed gently, and Mrs. Taggart took up the 
strain. “Yes, indeed; it is a recommendation in 
itself. I have no foolish pride in the matter, but I 
can’t help being thankful that our family is a good 
one. I never could have adopted a stranger. You 
never can tell how they will turn out ; but the child 
of my own niece was different.” 

Poor Mabel had a fit of crying over Gertrude’s next 
letter, for the writer asked that her letters thencefor- 
ward be directed in her aunt’s name. 

“ She is growing away from us, Madge ; I can’t help 
feeling it.” And even Madge’s confidence was shaken. 

Allan’s face darkened when they gave him the 
request, and the brief note he immediately wrote his 
sister gave Gertrude in her turn a sad hour.' 

She wrote very humbly and lovingly to both in 
reply. Madge and Mabel felt a weight lifted from 
their hearts, while Gertrude in Santa Barbara kept 
anxious watch for her mail. 


A SEA-CHANGE. 


285 


The simple faith and reverent ways of the House 
Blessed clung to her still. Morrison at one time pro- 
posed an excursion to one of the nearer mountains 
on the coming Sabbath. 

“On Sunday?” said Mrs. Taggart, properly 
shocked. 1 4 Why, Mr. Morrison, what would our 
good orthodox friends in the East say?” 

“When I was East,” Louis answered her deliber- 
ately, “ I went to church regularly Sunday morning — 
when I felt like it. I go here — when I ’ve nothing 
better to do. Really, Mrs. Taggart, Sunday is about 
the only day I am certain of without interruption just 
now.” 

“Then I suppose we must strain a point for once,” 
said Mrs. Taggart graciously. She would have as- 
sented to anything Louis Morrison proposed short of 
the theater. Mrs. Taggart thought Sunday theaters 
and concert halls should be rigorously suppressed ; 
they really were sinful. 

“You will have to excuse me,” said Gertrude, 
coloring as the young man turned to her. 

“ Have the customs of the effete East still so strong 
a hold on you, Miss Taggart? It will be a very quiet 
outing, I assure you — us four and no more, and back 
in time for evening service, to which I hope I may 
have the pleasure of attending you.” 

“ I have always been a faithful attendant at church 


286 


a ABBE T GRAIN. 


when m3 7 health permitted,” said Mrs. Taggart, frown- 
ing nervously at her niece ; “but, Gertrude, I cannot 
see that your giving it up for once to oblige a friend 
would be anything at all out of the way.” 

“ It is n’t church ; it ’s the day, aunt. I can’t judge 
for anybody else, but I prefer not to go.” 

“ I honor you for being stedfast to your principles, 
my dear,” interposed Mrs. Morrison. “ Let us wait 
a while, Louis, till you are not so busy.” 

Morrison had been consulting his notebook. “I 
find,” he said, “ that I can get off possibly for Satur- 
day. Will that be satisfactory to all?” 

“ Not to me,” laughed Gertrude, to whom the 
question had been addressed. “ I ’m sorry, but I 
promised some little children a sail 011 Saturday.” 

“And will their mothers cross your name off 
their visiting lists if the children are disappointed ? ” 
asked Morrison, his eyes fixed on the blushing face 
opposite. 

“Ridiculous, Gertrude!” cried her aunt. “Our 
laundress’s children and one or two others of the 
same sort. You can take them some other day.” 

“No, aunt; Mrs. Jerrod moves away next week, 
and the children wanted to have their sail together.” 

Louis Morrison shrugged his shoulders. “As you 
choose, Miss Taggart,” he said carelessly, and the 
subject of the excursion was dropped. 


A SEA-CHANGE. 


287 


Mrs. Taggart was very stately and inclined to be 
mournful when she and her niece were aloue. u If 
you wish to exchange such friends as the Morrisons 
for our laundress and her kind, Gertrude, I think you 
are in the way of doing it very successfully. I doubt 
if Louis Morrison ever extends another invitation 
to you.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


“no death for a word once spoken.” 

Is there, then, no death for a word once spoken? 

Was never a deed but left its token 
Written on tablets never broken? 

ET Gertrude did receive many another invitation 



from the same source until it became apparent 
to all at Alano Cottage that Mr. Morrison was what 
Sophy Dawes called “Miss Taggart’s steady com- 


Mabel Wyatt mourned that Trudie, who used to be 
the most regular and most voluminous of correspon- 
dents, now wrote so seldom and so briefly. They were 
always on the point of going somewhere and she was 
in a hurry, or had just returned and she was tired. 
She sent no more messages to individual members of 
the family. The words “Love to all” Walter aud 
Harold thought a poor substitute and felt themselves 
defrauded. 

Morrison’s name appeared quite frequently in her 
letters. “ Mr. Morrison and I rode to Ortega Point.” 
“We all went to Los Angeles last week — Mr. Morri- 


NO DEATH FOB A WOBD ONCE SPOKEN. 289 


son and liis mother, Aunt and I. The sail was delight- 
ful.” “ The horse Mr. Morrison found for me is so 
much better than the one I have been riding,” etc. 

“ I wonder,” Rodney said to Allan one day, 
“whether this Morrison Gertrude speaks of can be 
Fred White’s old chum. He went to California, I 
know.” 

Allan frowned angrily. “If it should be” — 

They were setting posts at the side of a field. Their 
experiment was a year old, and so far neither of them 
had any cause to regret it. Mr. Wyatt’s experience 
taught them to avoid many of the mistakes made by 
beginners. Allan understood his work thoroughly and 
Rodney was an enthusiast in it. Neither labored for 
himself alone nor with the feverish desire for gain 
uppermost. There were rough places, disappointments 
and drawbacks, times when each had to struggle with 
the faults of his own disposition and claim the other’s 
patience. These were few ; as a rule they enjoyed 
their work, each other’s society, the peace of the 
House Blessed. 

Rodney settled a post with several vigorous blows 
and suggested : “ Why not write to her and find out?” 

The frown had left Allan’s face. He answered 
sadly : “ No, I’ve seen for some time that my life and 
Trudie’s would probably lie very far apart. I never 
told her of that fuss ; it is n’t worth while now. Morri- 


290 


GARRET GRAIN. 


son was very conceited but not vicious in an} 7 way. 
Any fellow not raised on garret grain,” smiling at his 
companion, “ would probably do the same thing under 
the same circumstances.” 

“ Nonsense,” said Rodney shortly. 

Meanwhile Gertrude herself often realized with a 
twinge that she was neglecting the dear home friends. 
The House Blessed was still home to her ; her affection 
for its inmates had not lessened at all. It was only 
that these new interests were crowding them into the 
background. 

Her life with Mrs. Taggart, except for their frequent 
changes of habitation, had been a very quiet and con- 
fined one. She enjoyed this new companionship very 
much, especially the rides and drives out into the 
surrounding country and along the shore. 

“The sea and the mountains — these are what I 
shall miss when I go home,” she said one day. 

They were standing on a headland, the ocean rolling 
broad and wonderful before them. 

“When you go home?” said Morrison. “Is not 
your home with Mrs. Taggart, then?” 

Gertrude answered, confused: “I have been with 
Aunt Taggart several years, but when my parents died 
an uncle took me into his family, and that will always 
seem home to me.” 

“ I hope you are American enough to have your 


NO DEATH FOB A WOBD ONCE SPOKEN. 291 


idea of home a movable one,” her companion said 
lightly. u Of course it is all very fine to feel that 
one’s foot is on the same native heath which one’s 
ancestors have claimed as McGregors for generations ; 
but, after all, those ancestral homes are bars to pro- 
gress and growth. Better to found a new one on new 
soil with all the modern improvements and leave the 
old hampering fungus superstitions behind with the 
rotting old timbers.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ hampering fungus super- 
stitions ’ ? ” demanded Gertrude. 

“ Strained, puritanical ideas of the Sabbath,” began 
Morrison, glancing slyly at her. And as she did not 
take up the gauntlet he had thrown down he continued : 
“A narrowing down of life to the strictest code of 
ethics, that labels everything black or white, right or 
wrong, and leaves out of all consideration the various 
shades of gray. I really think people who hold such 
ideas are obstacles to the advance of civilization.” 

He had spoken jestingly with a view of drawing his 
companion into one of their frequent discussions. 
“You are not paying the least attention to me, 
Miss Taggart,” he concluded in a tone of pique. 

“ I was thinking,” Gertrude answered with her eyes 
still bent upon the ocean, “of a man whose whole life 
has been built upon such ideas and what a glorious 
answer he is to every speech like yours.” 


292 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“If he be a young man,” rejoined Morrison, “I 
emphasize my last statement.” 

And as she was silent again he said rather im- 
patiently : “Has this paragon lived long enough to 
make mistakes ? ” 

“He is about fifty.” 

“ Oh, then I forgive him,” cried Morrison, his 
gayety returning. “ He cannot convert me. But 
you, Miss Taggart — you might.” 

Seeing a shade still on her face, he changed the 
subject. “ I expect a friend here from the East in 
a few days. He is making an extended trip through 
the Western states and will finish up with the Pacific 
coast. He ” — 

Then a party of merry-makers, some of whom were 
acquaintances, invaded the height, and the sentence 
was left unfinished. 

The friend arrived in due course. At the close of 
their first long conversation Morrison said : “ There 
are two ladies here, friends of my mother’s, that I am 
anxious to have you meet.” 

“Friends of your mother's ,” rejoined the new- 
comer, a young man about Morrison’s age. 

“ One of them,” said Morrison, meeting his eye, 
“is a particular friend of mine.” 

“Aha, that alters the case. But you, Louis; 
I thought your standard so very high that you 


NO DEATH FOB A WORD ONCE SPOKEN. 293 


would be a long while finding any one to 
reach it.” 

“ Standards have to be lowered sometimes. Not 
that mine has dropped much — I don’t expect you to 
be as perfectly satisfied with her as I am, though — in 
fact don’t you dare to be ! ” 

“Everything is settled then.” 

“Not entirely; but it will be, I think, in a day or 
two. I have every reason to hope. Come to dinner 
with me to-morrow.” 

And Gertrude, a little late at her meal, found her- 
self unexpectedly facing Fred White. 

She recognized him at once — at once with the 
thought, “They will think 1 have been deceiving 
them.” And the mention of her name might lead to 
what Aunt Taggart had been dreading. 

The recognition was not mutual. In that instant of 
hesitation he had bowed to her as a stranger. As a 
stranger she returned it and listened to the conversa- 
tion that followed. She listened to it, taking little 
part. Was she Gertrude Foster from the House 
Blessed, where truth and honesty were native air? 
She longed to ask a thousand questions about them 
all ; she looked at Louis Morrison and was silent. 

Several times she caught Fred White’s eyes fixed 
upon her curiously as if a dawning recollection stirred 
him. The possibility that he might remember turned 


294 


GARRET GRAIN. 


her faint. Better a hundred times to have met him 
honestly at the start ; but there were the Morrisons 
and Aunt Taggart. 

“ Your friend doesn’t shine as a talker,” Fred said 
to Morrison afterwards. “Is she always so pale? 
It’s odd* but there is something familiar about her 
face.” 

Those were not altogether pleasant days to Ger- 
trude, though they were full of excitement and stir. 
She did not make any more promises to the children ; 
indeed she had done little of that since her intimacy 
with the Morrisons. The days were nearly always 
full. Mrs. Dawes found her more difficult than usual 
to suit ; Mrs. Taggart told her outright once that she 
was cross. 

There came a day when that lady summoned her 
to a private conference. Mrs. Taggart was very much 
elated, but she tried to be dignified and calm ; conse- 
quently her nervousness appeared to great advantage. 

“Mr. Morrison, my dear Gertrude, has” — she 
dropped her glasses — “ thank you. Yes, he spoke to 
me this morning ” — she brushed a card receiver from 
the table. “How awkward I am! — and asked per- 
mission to address you.” 

A half-amused expression crossed Gertrude’s face. 
Her aunt just then reminded her of Hosy. The 
amusement changed quickly to anxiety. 


NO DEATH FOB A WORD ONCE SPOKEN. 295 


“ Aunt Taggart, he must be told all about me.” 

“ Dear me, Gertrude, I fail to see the necessity. 
You will be married as my adopted daughter ; I shall 
take the necessary steps at once.” 

“ But, Aunt Taggart ” — 

“ Oh, well, wait a while at least. You will not be 
married to-morrow. I cannot see the use of bringing 
up all those dreadful things. I think you owe me 
a little gratitude, and you will ruin mv peace of 
mind if you do. What will Mrs. Morrison think 
of me?” 

Mrs. Taggart’s elation had suddenly disappeared. 
She was pleading and tearful. 

Gertrude weakly promised to wait. 

She walked up to the old mission buildings that 
afternoon. For a hundred years they had stood at 
the head of the Santa Barbara valley, the gray 
walls outlined against the hills beyond. A few priests 
have charge of them, but most of the cells are empty, 
and the buildings are slowly falling to decay. 

Gertrude, resting under the olive trees, heard voices, 
and a party of half a dozen gentlemen approached 
the grove. She drew back behind the tree against 
which she sat ; and as they came no nearer, and she 
was buried in her own conflicting thoughts, she gave 
them no farther notice until she heard Morrison’s 
voice pronounce a familiar name. 


296 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“ So 'Ellis gave up the whole thing, did he? Well, 
I ’m not surprised. He was inclined to be quixotic. 
Do you remember, White, how he stood up for that 
Foster fellow at Bylands?” 

“ Give us the story, Morrison,” said one of the 
gentlemen. And Morrison began : — 

“This Foster came of a bad lot, but no one at 
By lands knew that fact in his history except White, 
whose father happened to hear of it in New York 
when he was there on some law business. He told 
Fred to keep it still because of the fellow’s relatives. 
Foster was a glum, unsocial, stingy fellow, as great a 
contrast as you can imagine to Ellis, yet Ellis stuck to 
him like a brother from the start.” 

He told of the loss of his book and of its return by 
Rodney ; the loss of White’s muffler ; its supposed 
discovery by himself and their visit to Allan’s room. 
The incident, especially Rodney’s defense of his 
friend, had made a decided impression on Morrison ; 
his description was a graphic one. 

“ He could not have pitched into us more fiercely if 
we had been accusing him. Fred lost his temper finally 
and told Ellis just what kind of a fellow he was making 
a chum of ; that his father was a thief, killed while 
resisting the law. And Ellis simply opened the door 
and ordered us both out of the room. Well, it was 
rich, if we did get the worst of it.” 


NO DEATH FOB A WOBD ONCE SPOKEN. 297 

lie laughed at the recollection. 

14 And had the fellow taken White’s muffler?” asked 
one of the listeners. 

It was White himself who answered gravely : u No, 
I found it afterward slipped behind a shelf. Ellis was 
right after all.” 

He seemed very absent-minded that afternoon. The 
others rallied him on constantly falling behind, or wan- 
dering on before, and being found in a brown study in 
various nooks and corners. 

Morrison’s story made clear to White the vague, 
haunting familiarity in Miss Taggart’s face, and 
what to do with his knowledge puzzled him not a 
little. 

He was the first to emerge from the old gray chapel, 
and as he stood waiting outside for the others he saw 
the person uppermost in his thoughts come slowly from 
the olive grove. 

Fred’s resolution was taken in that moment. He 
went forward to meet her and raising his hat addressed 
her pointedly as “ Miss Foster.” 

She met his gaze squarely, an odd brightness in her 
own. u I recognized you, Mr. White, at once. Now, 
if you please, I should like to ask about my uncle’s 
family — if you know anything of them.” 

“ I have been from home myself for six months or 
more.” White marveled at her coolness but he had 


298 


GABBET GRAIN. 


determined on a course of action that he considered 
very magnanimous. His conscience had always trou- 
bled him a little when he thought of Allan. He was 
not, as Rodney had said of him, half a bad fellow ; 
and he meant now to atone for the wrong done to Allan 
by a kindness to Allan’s sister. 

He hastened to say in a low tone : “ It is true, 
Miss Foster, your brother and I were not friends. I 
did him an injustice once that I deeply regret. And if 
you prefer to keep your relationship to him — to the 
Wyatts — secret, the Morrisons shall not learn of it 
from me.” 

Even as he spoke the odd brightness in her face 
startled him. He remembered that he saw her first 
coming from the olive grove. Could she have heard 
Morrison’s story? When she answered him he knew 
she had. 

“ They will learn of it from me, thank you, 
Mr. White. I am proud of my brother.” 

“ And knowing what I know of his feeling for her,” 
thought White, “I am thankful I am not my friend 
Louis.” 

The others came out of the chapel. Morrison saw 
White and Gertrude. Excusing himself to his com- 
panions, he crossed over to them, not quickening his 
usual leisurely step at all ; there were too many eyes 
upon him. But White caught the look that flashed 


NO DEATH FOR A WORD ONCE SPOKEN. 299 


past him to the face of the woman Morrison loved and 
felt an actual chill. 

At the mission again, Miss Taggart ? She actually 
haunts the place, Fred.” Then as Gertrude bowed 
without speaking and turned away he followed her a 
step or two. 44 I wish I could walk back with you but 
I am acting as guide to these unsophisticated New 
Yorkers.” In a lower tone : k ‘ Will you ride with me 
this evening, Gertrude?” 

She had not meant to speak then but she had been 
thinking of Allan until her heart was all aflame. She 
faced him quietly. 44 Not this evening, nor ever 
again, Mr. Morrison. You will understand that our 
acquaintance must end here when I tell you that the 
Allan Foster of whom you spoke this afternoon is 
my own and only brother.” 

She walked away from them royally. 

44 Come, Fred,” said Morrison, after a moment, 
44 they are waiting for us.” He had grown pale and 
breathed a little hard. 

As stately as Mrs. Taggart ever moved, Gertrude 
left the mission grounds, but her step quickened insen- 
sibly. When she reached the head of their street she 
almost ran. Straight to her room she went and opened 
a trunk, scattering its contents on the floor much like 
the Trudie of former times. Under everything, as if 
it had purposely been hidden, lay a large photograph. 


300 


GAB BET GBAIN. 


In the foreground a log of wood rested on two sup- 
ports. A youth in his shirtsleeves with hat pushed 
back on his curly head, and one hand resting on a 
crosscut saw, turned a merry face toward the observer 
from the right. On the left another lad was in the act 
of taking off his coat. The back of the picture bore 
this screed : — 

Dear Gertrude Y., 

I know you ’ll be 
Glad to see 
Allan and me 
Kept biz-zee. 

Yours, 

Rodney E. 

P. S. — Can you beat that? 

The picture was the work of a traveling pho- 
tographer indifferently executed and taken during the 
last year of their academy life. Rodney in a spirit 
of mischief scrawled the rhyme upon it and sent it 
to Gertrude, who had indignantly thrust it out of 
sight. 

Now her tears fell fast upon it. “ O my brother, 
my dear brother ! my dear boys ! ” she whispered. 
“And oh, my precious home!” 

There was something to be done that Gertrude 
shrank from. How she did shrink from unpleasant 
things ! She looked down at the picture and rose 
up strong. 




Trudie’s 


Announcement. 




NO DEATH FOB A WOBD ONCE SPOKEN. 301 


u I have had another letter from that Woods woman, 
Gertrude,” said Mrs. Taggart fretfully. It was thus 
she referred to her brother’s child. ‘‘Tells over her 
attainments and qualifications like an auctioneer. I 
wish yon would write to her and tell her that I cannot 
possibly have her here now. After you are married 
I will think about it.” 

Gertrude shut her lips tight to stop their quivering 
and opened them to say : “I shall never be married, 
Aunt Taggart; at least not to Louis Morrison. He 
knows now what my name really is and who my 
father was:” 

Mrs. Taggart dropped the letter and brushed two 
papers and a book from the table. “Against my 
wishes ! ” she said in a trembling voice ; “ against 
my express wishes ! ” 

“ It would have been far better for us both if he 
had known from the beginning.” 

Mrs. Taggart took the letter from Gertrude and 
folded it with nervous hands. “ I wish,” she said in 
her most dignified tones, “ that you would answer this 
at once and say to Mrs. Woods that I am ready to 
receive her at any time. She is of excellent family 
on both sides and will at least be grateful. You had 
better return to your Uncle Wyatt as soon as possible. 
I do not see how you can bear to face Mrs. Morrison. 
I am sure I do not feel as if I could.” 


302 


GARRET GRAIN. 


Then Mrs. Taggart had hysterics and a fit of 
nervous prostration. It was a week before Gertrude 
could leave, and each day seemed like a year. 

Louis Morrison did not come to the house at all ; 
he sent his mother word that business on the ranch 
detained him, but Mrs. Morrison at once connected 
his absence with Gertrude’s abrupt departure, and her 
anxious, troubled face was the hardest thing the girl 
had to bear. 

“ Forgive me ! ” she whispered when the time came 
to say good-by. “ Oh, forgive me ! I have loved you 
very much.” 

“If you have treated Louis badly,” said the 
mother, tears springing to her eyes, “ as much as 
I love you, Gertrude,'! don’t believe I ever can.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


HOSEA MAKES AN ATONEMENT, 


HE is coming home ! ” sang Mabel, waving a 



letter in the air. “The dear, dear, darling 
Trudie ! She is coming home ! ” 

“When Trudie comes ” was now the household shib- 
boleth, and of course Rodney took it up. “Bring 
some lemons from town, Aunt Emily? . Very well — 
4 when Trudie comes.’ Am I to post this letter, 
Mabel? All right — 4 when Trudie comes.’” 

“ She won’t find you much improved,” retorted 


Mabel 


“Improved! Do I need improving? Perhaps it 
will take place — 4 when Trudie comes.’” 

Gertrude’s coming was not the only piece of news 
that excited the House Blessed at this time. Never 
had Hosea performed such prodigies of stumbling 
over wheelbarrow and plowhandles and falling off 
ladders. Nobody else could have done such things 
without incurring serious injuries. In regular suc- 
cession would be heard a clatter, a muttered 44 Cre-a- 
tion ! ” a sight of revolving arms and legs, and Hosea’s 
face emerging from the confusion like the stars 


304 


GABBET GBAIN . 


bursting from a rocket after its preliminary sputter and 
whiz. When he finally slid down the straw stack 
squarely on top of Rodney, who chanced to be at its 
base, and they both rolled over together, Rodney took 
him by the throat and demanded an explanation. 

“If I did not know you for a confirmed teetotal 
abstainer, Hosv, the matter would be plain enough. 
You ’ve been out late three nights running, you scamp, 
you ! Have you gone back on your principles and 
taken to tanglefoot? ” 

“ Well,” said Hosy, sitting up on the ground and 
rubbing his hands over his hair, “ I’ve got to tell you 
folks, and I may as well do it first as last. Maybe if 
I free my mind I won’t be so top-heavy. It ain’t 
tanglefoot — it ’s tangle heart ; it ain’t getting drunk 
— it’ s getting married.” 

“Married! Who’s going to get married, Hosy — 
you?” 

“Anybody ’round here got a better right?” in- 
quired Mr. Bannister defiantly. 

“Certainly not. Only you’ve sprung it on us so 
sudden. I did n’t even know you were waiting on any 
lady. Have you and Mary concluded to make up?” 

“No, we hain’t, and I guess there don’t either of us 
want to. What do you say to Mrs. Bolton?” 

“Mrs. Bolton! Why, Hosy, she’s got eight chil- 
dren ! ” 




HO SEA MAKES AN ATONEMENT . 305 


44 No, she hain’t got but six ; two of ’em ’s off, no- 
body knows where. And I guess I can make as 
good a father to ’em — not to speak disrespectful 
of the dead, nor his last days — as John Bolton ever 
did.” 

“Of course, Hosy ; I was only thinking of the 
responsibility.” 

“A man ain’t worth worth much that can’t shoul- 
der responsibility, and the more he shoulders and sticks 
to the more of a man he is. Not to overvally my- 
self,” said Hosea, looking modestly into his straw hat, 
44 I’ve thought a good many times that I could n’t do 
much worse bringing up children than lots of folks I 
see trying.” 

44 Fact, Hosy ; you could n’t.” 

44 The real facts of the case is jest these,” said 
Hosea, putting on his hat again, and turning to Allan, 
who had joined them : 44 I never did quite do jestice 
to John Bolton, and jest as I found him out and 
was going to make up for it, off he goes, and I ’ve felt 
upset over it ever sence. Course I ’ve tried to be 
neighborly and help the widder, but an outsider can’t 
do much. Them children are getting ahead of her. 
I was there t ’other day mending the cellar door, when 
she tried to switch Bob for some caper, and the little 
rascal jerked loose and ran away. He would n’t ’a’ 
broke loose from me. And it come to me like a flash 


306 


GARRET GRAIN. 


that the best way I could make up to John Bolton 
would be to take that woman and them children, and 
be the sort of husband and father to ’em lie ’d likely 
be now if he had the chance. So I ’ve been seeing her 
and we’ ye talked the matter over. She ’s agreed and 
I’m agreed, and if you folks ain’t no objections I 
guess there ain’t nobody else’s consent to ask. Your 
uncle ’s going to lease me the place down there and let 
the rent go towards paying for it. I ’ve got quite a 
bit laid up too, and I ’ll be close by to help you folks 
if you get into a pinch.” 

“That’s the best of it all, Hosy,” said Rodney, 
warmly grasping his hand. “I congratulate Mrs. 
Bolton.” 

“ And so do I,” said Allan, shaking his other hand. 

Hoseg, smiled well pleased. “ Thank ye, boys. 
We Ve always been good friends, hain’t we? It really 
does me good clear through ” — he started to get up 
and lost his balance, saying as he came down again, — 
“ to think how glad John Bolton will be to have them 
children well brought up.” 

“It is an excellent arrangement all ’round,” said 
Mr. Wyatt when he and the young men spoke of it 
together. “ He will be happier with his own home — 
any man is — and Mrs. Bolton will make him a good 
wife. Besides, Hosy has a knack with children ; he 
always got along well with mine — eh, boys? The 


110 SEA MAKES AN ATONEMENT. 307 


worst part of it all affects us ; how are we going to get 
along without Hosy?” 

“ True enough ; we shall have to be on the lookout 
for another hand,” said Allan. 

“You have some one in your mind, Uncle Charley,” 
said Rodney, watching his uncle’s face. 

“If you don’t mind,” said Mr. Wyatt, looking 
anxiously at Allan, “I should like to try that young 
fellow we heard speak at the Mission.” 

“ Try him, by all means, uncle. I think he is a por- 
ter in a store somewhere : but there will be no difficulty 
in getting his new address ; ” and then for some myste- 
rious reason Allan blushed. 

The day of Gertrude’s arrival came. They were to 
meet her at the city several miles away. The entire 
family wanted to go, but finally settled on a committee 
of three. 

“ I parted with her last; I must be first to welcome 
her home,” said Uncle Charley. 

Allan said : “I am her brother.” 

“ And I was her sister and her chum from the time 
I first coaxed her up garret,” cried Mabel. 

At the last moment Mr. Wyatt was detained to per- 
form some official act as magistrate. Rodney, having 
a little business to transact in town, took his 


308 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“I used to tease her more than anybody else; I 
must go to make up,” he explained to Walter and 
Madge. 

The exact time of her arrival was a little uncertain. 
She could come either from north or south, and had 
only mentioned the day without giving her expected 
route. 

Mabel wondered if they would know each other. 
“ She will not know you boys, you are so much taller 
and broader, with mustaches, and Rodney is tanned 
almost as brown as an Indian.” 

“1 shall know her,” said Rodney. “She’ll be 
sure to have something out of fix, bonnet on crooked, 
hair down, smut on her nose, tie under her ear.” 

“ Allan,” cried Mabel indignantly, “ how can you 
sit there and hear him talk like that ! I should put 
him out of the carriage.” 

“If you could, mademoiselle. It would be ‘ which 
and t’other’ between Allan and me. There, calm 
down, Mabel ; I won’t tease you any more.” 

TLey were early. Mabel went up town to do some 
shopping ; Rodney to execute the business which was 
his principal errand. Allan remained in the vicinity 
of the depot and engaged in conversation with two 
gentlemen who were interested and influential in local 
politics. 

The subject of conversation was the unsavory repu- 


HOSE A MAKJ0S AN ATONEMENT. 309 


tation of a man brought prominently forward as candi- 
date for the state legislature. 

“ Given a man popular in the community, of un- 
stained character, we could beat him and not half try.” 
The speaker turned to Allan as if struck by a sudden 
thought. “ If you would take the nomination, Foster, 
as well known as you are, and with your uncle’s popu- 
larity to back you, I believe it would be smooth sailing. 
Mr. Wvatt will have nothing to do with politics — 
more ’s the pity.” 

For a moment ambition stirred Allan’s breast. He 
thought of the prestige it might give him in a certain 
pair of gentle eyes. No, not hers ; he knew her 
unswayed by any advantage of worldly honor or suc- 
cess. But there was her father ; might not the position 
honorably won help dim the stain of his inheritance? 
And with the thought he knew that his own father’s 
memory was an insuperable barrier to any thought 
of public life. 

He shook his head. “ I could not do it, Mr. Gray.” 

“Can you suggest any one? Jeffries and I have 
been racking our brains for the right person. It is 
useless to undertake it without an exceptional candi- 
date ; the other fellow’s personal following ' is too 
strong.” 

Allan thought a moment. Rodney was out of the 
question. He was outspoken in his denunciation of 


310 


GARRET GRAIN. 


both political parties, and his comparatively brief resi- 
dence in the district was against him ; besides Allan 
knew almost to a certainty that he could not be in- 
duced to stand. The next person who presented him- 
self to the young man’s mental vision, he recognized 
as in every way a suitable candidate, but in the few 
moments that elapsed between that recognition and the 
utterance of the man’s name Allan fought a battle with 
himself. 

“There is Judge White’s son, Fred ; he is a capa- 
ble fellow and an honorable one. His manner may be 
a little against him with some, but everybody knows 
the judge.” 

“ The very man ! ” his hearers exclaimed together. 
“ But,” objected the first speaker, “ he is away from 
home.” 

“ Expected back in a very short time. I beg your 
pardon, but I fancy that is the train I am waiting 
for.” 

It was a union depot, and the hour one of the 
busiest of the day. Train after train came rolling in 
from different directions. Rodney joined Allan after 
a hasty glance into the waiting room. 

“One tall, prim young person looked daggers at 
me through her veil because I backed against her acci- 
dentally in coming out ; but there is no Gertrude there. 
Here comes the B. B. & F. If she isn ’t on this, no 


HO SEA MAKES AN A TONEMENT. 311 


Gertrude to-day. What will you bet, Allau, that I 
don’t get the first kiss? ” 

He had one foot on the car steps, but he took it 
hastily down again, for the “ tall, prim young person ” 
had both arms around Allan’s neck. 

Rodney had a saucy greeting ready at his tongue’s 
end. When she turned towards him, the veil no longer 
hiding her shining eyes, and said, “ Rodney,” in a tone 
like music, his speech fled to the four winds taking his 
self-possession along with it. He blushed all over his 
tanned face, and bowed over her hand as if she were 
a stranger. 

Then came Mabel like a small whirlwind, and she 
and Gertrude cried cozily on each other’s shoulder, till 
Allan drew his sister away to pick out her baggage. 
Mabel wiped her eyes and gave Rodney a vicious 
pinch. 

“ Where ’s the something sure to be out of fix — the 
crooked bonnet ” — 

“Ow! eh?” said Rodney, startled out of a fit of 
abstraction. 

“And her hair down — and the tie under her ears, 
and ” — 

“ Mabel,” said Rodney, tucking her arm under his 
and walking her down the platform, “ if you could 
conveniently forget any chance remarks that might 
have hurt your feelings on the way over — yes, Allan, 


312 


GARRET GRAIN. 


I ’m coining — the best box of candy — Here, give 
me that, the idea of two of us bothering with it. Why 
did n’t you bring a trunk, Gertrude V . ? ” 

He had said it, and he immediately felt as if he had 
been un pardon ably rude. 

Allan did most of the talking on the way home. 
Rodney was at a loss what to say, and the girls sat 
silently with their arms around each other and their 
faces pressed together. 

Suddenly Gertrude roused herself and leaned for- 
ward. “ When we turn now we shall see the chimneys. 
Oh, how often I have dreamed of it, Mabel, turning 
as we are turning now, and — yes, there they are ! 
Oh, there they are ! ” 

Down an incline and up another. One more turn, 
and there was the House Blessed with its hospitable 
doors wide open, and the family on the steps. Rodney 
waved his hat with a gay hurrah, and was answered by 
such a very ridiculous yell from the barnyard that 
Gertrude rode through the gate laughing as hysterically 
at Hosy as she had laughed when she went away. 
And then out of the waiting group stepped Uncle 
Charley, gently putting Rodney aside, and holding his 
own arms out to the traveler. “ Welcome home, my 
daughter ! welcome, welcome home ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

BEN FINDS “ THE PLACE.” 

D you are going to marry Mrs. Bolton, Hosy? 



-Z_A_ When Mary used to scold me and say that no 
one would ever want such an untidy wife, you always 
said : ‘ Never mind : Trudie, I ’ll marry you if nobody 
else will.’ Now what am I to do? ” 

“ Why hain’t you said su’thing about it before ? ” 
said Hosy, lounging in the doorway. “Here’s two 
leap years come and gone, and you hain’t said a 
word.” 

“And now you can’t disappoint Mrs. Bolton — eh, 
Hosy?” said Rodney. 

“Oh, it ain’t her nor me so much,” rejoined 
Mr. Bannister, “it’s the children. I couldn’t 
disappoint the children. You’ve no idea how much 
they ’re lotting on me going there to live. But say, 
Gertrude, I reckon I could find you a substitute 
without going very fur.” 

Then Gertrude rose quickly up and began to help 
Mabel clear away the table, resolving not to jest with 
Hosy any more about his approaching nuptials. 


313 


314 


GABBET GBAIN. 


She flitted from room to room those first days like 
an uneasy spirit, “too happy to keep still,” she said. 
When she was away from them longest, they knew 
they should find her in the garret, down on the floor 
by the window, or at the easel Walter had made for 
her. She could use colors with better judgment now. 
Walter dropped everything else to make her the easel, 
and when it was finished demanded a picture as his 
reward. All his grumbling and doubts were forgotten ; 
he was absolutely devoted to his cousin and as jealous 
as a Turk. 

Trudie had always been an affectionate creature. 
There was little about Mrs. Taggart to encourage 
demonstration ; now she was like one half-starved for 
caresses. So she was either hugging Aunt Emily, or 
sitting on her uncle’s knee, or embracing the girls, 
or walking about with an arm around Harold’s 
neck. Once, when Allan and Rodney chanced to be 
standing side by side, she came up between them and 
slipped a hand within the arm of each. 

It was only for a moment that she stood there, and 
she did not do it again. She clung to Allan’s arm 
often, not to Rodney’s. Rodney wondered why. 
Her voice had always been a pleasant one ; when she 
spoke his name now the inflection was like music. 
Once or twice he caught in her face the shining look 
that she gave him when they first met. The ex pres- 


BEN FINDS THE PLACE. 


315 


sion puzzled him ; he felt that if he could only hold 
her gaze a moment he could find out what it meant, 
but she always swiftly looked away. And she never 
took his arm, never leaned over his shoulder as he 
read, never called on him for assistance, never gave 
his hair or nose or ears playful little twitches in 
passing. He wanted to joke with her about it, but 
when he tried the words sounded so coarse and 
foolish that he felt like begging her pardon on the 
spot. He afraid of Gertrude ? Ridiculous ! She 
afraid of him? Nonsense! Yet the invisible wall 
remained between them. 

I have said that Gertrude flitted from room to room, 
but she had at once taken a share of the household 
tasks, and in her flitting accomplished the daily 
putting to rights. She was dusting in Grandma 
Wiggins’ room one morning — Grandma Wiggins, 
who appeared very little older and was still engaged 
apparently on socks and stockings for the neighbor- 
hood. On the old-fashioned bureau stood a cabinet 
photograph that grandma exhibited with pride. 

‘ ‘ Is n’t it a good sweet face as you ever saw ? 
She ’s a friend of Rodney’s and came here last sum- 
mer to board a while. * She was lame, and she brought 
with her — paid their board, she would do it — three 
poor children that had n’t ever been out of the city 
before. I declare it was pitiful to see ’em. They 


316 


GARRET GRAIN. 


went round first a-looking and a-looking as if their 
eyes would pop out of their heads. One of ’em — 
she was thin as a rail when she come — used to set by 
me by the hour. And first along she ’d keep asking, 

4 Is it always like this here ? Don’t they never any of 
’em get drunk nor swear nor fight?’ And once, very 
solemn : 4 Do you b’lieve it ’s any better in heaven ? ’ ” 

44 And the lame girl?” said Gertrude. 

44 She was like a mother to ’em. She and your 
uncle went way out round everywhere and found 
places for ’em. There they are as happy as larks. 
Come to see us every once in a while and call it 
coming home.” 

44 But the lady,” said Gertrude again. 

44 Yes. She was Rodney’s friend, daughter of 
some rich man in New York, but she seems perfectly 
satisfied to be a farmer’s wife. He thinks lots of 
her, and well he may. It ain’t always that such 
things come out as you’d like to have ’em,” said 
grandma, handing her knitting to Gertrude to have a 
stitch picked up, 4 4 but this time it seems just right.” 

44 Is my daughter longing for California life again? ” 
Uncle Charles asked her a few days after. 

44 No, uncle, never, never. Why do you ask? ” 

“You are not so merry as you were at first, and 
your eyes look sometimes as if you had been crying.” 

“It is not to go back : it is more because I ever 


BEN FINDS THE PLAGE. 


317 


went away. Oh, I have lost so much, so much of the 
garret grain ! ” 

“Why, Gertrude, my dear, you seem very little 
chauged, surprisingly little when I remember what 
your surroundings have been.” 

“You don’t know, uncle. I have grown so selfish. 
And out there I was cowardly, dishonest, false to all 
of you, afraid of my name.” 

“Poor child !” said Uncle Charley, smoothing her 
hair. 

“Afraid to even speak of you or Allan,” sobbed 
Gertrude, “ lest people should know I was a criminal’s 
child. But it was only for a little while, uncle ; and 
I loved you all dearly, dearly, all the time.” 

“ Poor child ! ” said Uncle Charley again. 

“It’s past; I shall never feel like that again. I 
can bear anything now that I am at home. Oh, 
God has been good to me to give me home and 
you.” 

There was a sound of rattling wheels on the road. 
Behold, Hosea in the big wagon with a stranger at 
his side. 

“I’ve got your man,” he shouted to his employer 
as soon as his voice could by any chance reach 
Mr. Wyatt. 

The wagon rolled into the yard, and a young man 
with short dark hair and keen eyes sprang from it 


318 


a AUBE T GRAIN. 


and shook Mr. Wyatt’s hand a full minute without 
speaking. 

“Welcome, Ben !” said Mr. Wyatt, clearing his 
throat, “welcome to the House Blessed! Gertrude, 
this is Ben Makart who will take — no, he can’t take 
Hosy’s place, but he will be with us in Hosv’s stead.” 

Ben with his hat in his hand looked joyfully about 
him, up at the house, and back to his employer’s face. 

“ I knew it in a moment, sir, when I see it first as 
if it were laughing to me. I said to Mr. Bannister : 
4 That’s the house, I know it.’ 4 Man alive,’ he said, 
4 the house is half a mile away.’ 4 1 told him, 
“ Maybe it is, but that ’s it.” ’ ” 

“Can’t fool him,” grinned Hosy, “his eyes is too 
sharp. Why, he knew me, picked me out from a 
dozen. ‘You’re Mr. Wyatt’s man, ain’t you,’ says 
he. 4 1 ’m my own man,’ says I. 4 But you live with 
him, don’t you ? ’ And I had to own up I did. Did 
any of you tell him about the crook in my legs ? ” 

“It was n't your legs,” said Makart, smiling. 44 You 
had n’t been on the platform five minutes before you ’d 
carried an old fellow’s box to his wagon for him, 
helped a woman on the cars, and picked up a kid that 
fell down. Says 1 : 4 He ’s the man.’ ” 

It made the whole family happy to see Ben, his 
expression was one of such absolute content. He 
took most kindly to the horses and cattle, and immedi- 


BEN FINDS THE PLACE. 


319 


ately Hosea took to him. In three days he knew the 
name of every four-footed thing on the place ; in six, 
he knew all their peculiarities ; in nine, he was saying 
“ our horses, our cows, and our sheep.” In two 
weeks he had all Hosy’s old-maidish ways about the 
stables complete. 

“And he’s jest as quick as a flash,” said Hosea 
to Rodney; “in and out and in afore you can say 
Jack Robinson. ’T would take a lively horse to get a 
kick at him though our ’n ain’t that kind. I feel lots 
better about goin’ off now you ’ve got a chap with 
gumption.” 

“If he does so well what are you lecturing him 
morning, noon, and night for, Hosy? I hear you 
laying down the law to him till I should think the 
fellow would fly all to pieces.” 

“Now you look here, Rodne}',” said Hosea with 
dignity, “I’ve had the handlin’ of these stables nigh 
fifteen year. What I tell that fellow ain’t goin’ to 
hurt him none, is it? Well, then, you let me talk. 
He ’s a very fair chap, but he needs instructin’. 
Course he does.” 

And he got it. “Don’t mind Hosy, Ben,” said 
Rodney to the new-comer, “you’re taking hold first- 
class. He knows it and says so ; but he has just so 
much breath to use.” 

“ It don’t disturb me none, Mr. Ellis,” replied 


320 


GARRET GRAIN. 


Makart. u I want to learn this thing clear from the 
start ; and if he blowed all day, one look at Mr. 
Wyatt’s face would make it straight by night.” 

In the house Gertrude moved about more quietly 
than at first. She did not seem less content or 
affectionate, but she had long fits of musing and hid 
away often in the garret, painting or reading aloud to 
Walter and Harold. She had begun to talk with her 
uncle about finding some employment. Neither he 
nor Allan could persuade her to give up the idea, but 
Uncle Charley insisted that it should be “ laid on the 
table ” till fall. 

“ Then we will talk it over, little girl, see what you 
are best fitted for, and decide. Rest now and don’t 
let the memory of your Aunt Taggart worry you.” 

On the dressing-case in the room occupied by Allan 
and Rodney stood a companion picture to that in 
Grandma Wiggins’ apartment. It had a fascination 
for Gertrude ; she rarely cleaned either room without 
hanging over the photograph. Allan came in one day 
when she was thus engaged, the picture lying between 
her elbows, while she bent pver it in a brown study. 

“ Rodney’s friend,” she said. 

He crossed the room and looked over her shoulder. 

“Yes, Rodney’s friend,” he said after a pause, 
“ and mine, Gertrude, mine.” 

She started, her face grown suddenly bright, and 


BEN FINDS THE PLACE. 


321 


leaned against him in a mute caress. Together their 
eyes studied the gentle face. 

Gertrude longed yet dreaded to ask. the question 
trembling on her lips. It was only a whisper at last. 

“ Does she know, brother?” 

“ She knows.” 

“ When you told her” — 

“ She said : ‘Come, my friend.’” Allan’s eyes were 
wonderfully tender. 

Gertrude lifted the picture to her lips. 

“ And yet I don’t know that I would ever have had 
the courage to speak if it had not been for uncle. 
‘Allan,’ he said to me, ‘ if a man loves a woman, he 
owes it to her to tell her so.’ ‘ But if he has nothing to 
offer her?’ I said. ‘ He has himself/ uncle answered. 
‘ With a stain on the name he bears’ — I began and 
uncle stopped me. ‘ Were you often sorry for follow- 
ing my advice? ’ he asked. I told him ‘ No.’ ‘ You ’ll 
not be sorry now, Allan.’ And he was right.” 

They were silent again, and presently he asked her 
gently : “ Has the old shadow troubled you ?” 

“Yes, brother, for a while.” He felt her trembling 
as she put an arm about his neck. “Oh, forgive me, 
dear. I lived a lie for fear people would know, but 
when I heard how you suffered onc£ because of it — 
my brother, my dear brother ! — after that, the miser- 
able fear all fell away.” 


322 


GABBET GBAIN. 


“You are like yourself, again, sweetheart,” said 
Mabel, looking lovingly at her cousin as Gertrude came 
singing downstairs with a basket on her arm and took 
her hat from the rack. “I began to think you were 
homesick for Mrs. Taggart.” 

“For Aunt Taggart! O Mabel, if you should try 
it for a year ! ” 

“ I would n’t for a week, ‘ unless for charity’s sweet 
sake,’ ” returned Mabel. 

Rodney appeared in the doorway. “Outward bound, 
Gertrude ? Do you see my new horse yonder ? ” 

“Yes; his ears are too small,” said Gertrude mis- 
chievously. 

“ Excuse me. His ears are beautiful, simply beau- 
tiful, Miss Foster. You are thinking of California 
mules. Do you see that brand-new conveyance behind 
him?” 

“It is too high, Rodney. It looks top-heavy.” 

“It rides all the easier for being high. Come and 
try it with me.” 

“I thought of going to walk with Walter,” said 
Gertrude, hesitating. 

“You are always walking with Walter, when you’re 
not riding with him. That young man is learning very 
idle habits. Why* Gertrude, I have n’t had sixteen 
words with you alone since you came back.” 

“What’s that down on the road yonder, Mr. 


BEN FINDS THE PLACE. 


323 


Wyatt?” asked Hosy, leaning out of the tool-house 
window. 

“ A buggy,” said Mr. Wyatt, looking in the direc- 
tion indicated. “ Rodney in his new buggy.” 

“Ain’t alone, is he? Got some one with him?” 

“Yes; one of the girls. Gertrude, I think. Any- 
thing the matter with your eyes, Hosy ? ” 

“Not much,” said Hosy shortly; and as his em- 
ployer moved away Hosy winked after him, slapped 
his thigh, and opened his mouth in a big silent laugh. 

“No, sir, not much the matter with my eyes, but 
where’s yours, Mr. Wyatt? He don’t see nothing,” 
said Hosy, pointing his thumb over his shoulder and 
winking again, “but I see it the first day she got 
home.” 


I 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


THE GARRET’S FINAL GIFT. 

N OW I am going first to take you round to my 
estate,” said Rodney gayly to his companion. 
The trifling between them before they started had 
been like old times. He felt quite upon the old famil- 
iar footing. 

“ Look, Gertrude, here’s the umbrella elm. Isn’t it 
a beauty? And here is where the sleigh upset the first 
Christmas after we began going to Bylands.” 

For an instant he caught 4he glance that puzzled him 
so ; but after that she looked steadily away. 

He would not let her silence embarrass him and 
dashed into a gleeful account of Hosv’s lectures to 
Ben. 

“It isn’t only on manners and methods at the 
stables, but manners and methods everywhere. This 
morning it was on how to choose a wife and how to 
propose. Oh, yes, I listened ; there was nothing confi- 
dential about it and I thought that I needed instruction 
as well as Ben. Last night it was on the doctrine of 


THE GARRET ' 1 S FINAL GIFT. 


325 


election — Ben’s a little bit of a Presbyterian. Day 
before yesterday it was on judging by appearances. 
Hosy grows eloquent on that theme.” 

Then he drifted into an account of Mr. Wyatt’s ill- 
ness, and the tears stood on Gertrude’s lashes. 

“To think of the years uncle kept on sowing the 
grain in such apparently hopeless soil, Gertrude ! It has 
given me the most vivid idea of God’s patience and 
mercy. Uncle said poor Bolton’s last few years, in 
spite of his frequent lapses, were full of harvest to 
him. And think of his dying words ! ” 

Long before this they had reached the “estate.” 
It was familiar ground to Gertrude, but some changes 
had been made and more were in progress. 

Here was the young orchard Rodney had set out in 
the fall ; here the never-failing spring whose water 
should be used for the dairy — “ not for mixing pur- 
poses, Gertrude.” On this piece of level ground the 
barns and out-buildings were to stand. “ And here,” 
helping her up a little rise, “ I hope to build my house 
some day.” 

“Is this your best location, Rodney?” asked his 
companion, looking about her. “If I remember 
aright, there is a better place not far off.” 

Now she led the way, stopping presently with an 
expectant air near a thicket. Rodney looked about 
him and struck an attitude of great surprise. 


326 


GARRET GRAIN. 


“ Will you explain to me at length your reasons for 
preferring this rocky, uneven, brambly spot? Why, 
you can’t see in nor out nor up.” 

“But you can see down. Climb this tree, Rodney, 
only to the first fork. Now what do you see?” 

“Hurrah! the House Blessed, the creek, the mead- 
ows, the bridge ! Why, this view is lovely ; but it 
will need extra work to get the place ready.” 

“Yes, the thicket will have to be cleared away and 
that mound leveled. But the sight of the dear old 
home would be so much to me.” 

Then she blushed horribly and for one miserable 
instant wished herself back in California. 

“It will be much to me,” said Rodney, descending 
from his perch. “The dear old home! What do 
I not owe to it ! ” 

“I owe everything,” said Gertrude, with her face 
turned in its direction. 

She was sitting on a large stone to rest. Rodney 
walked thoughtfully up and down. 

“ I mean that this,” indicating his future residence, 
“ shall be a House Blessed too, a place that no one 
shall ever enter without being happier — I hope, better 
— for it ; where cruelty shall learn kindness ; false- 
hood, truth ; selfishness, sacrifice ; where suffering 
shall find sympathy ; the homeless, friends ; and all, 
God’s love through him who died.” 


THE GARRET'S FINAL GIFT. 


327 


“The good Lord’s garret grain,” said his com- 
panion gently. 

“Ah, Gertrude! How fast the old garret holds 
her children ! Once I did my best to forget.” 

“ And so did I.” 

“ Did you? Did she let go? She would not let me 
go. I saw that dear old crooked Golden Rule all day 
and had to give up at last. You heard how my for- 
tune disappeared, did n’t you, Gertrude? Indeed, the 
hardest part of its going was because I had seen how 
much help was needed and longed to use it there. But 
I think I begin to see why it went.” He threw him- 
self on the grass beside her. “After all, it is n’t so 
much the money as 1 the loving heart and the willing 
hand. The gift without the giver is bare. If I had 
had the money to spend liberally I would easily have 
grown satisfied with that and never learned the greater 
lesson and the better gift — self.” 

He was looking down the hillside, and Gertrude 
now looked steadily at him. She rose and pointed 
to the west. 

“ See, Rodney, it is after sunset. We must be 
going.” 

He detained her a moment. “ Look, yonder is the 
roof of Allan’s home. He is to have the Winstan place. 
It will enable him to remain with uncle till Harold gets 
old enough to make a choice. Has Allan told you?” 


328 


GABBET GBAIN . 


“ Yes.” 

“ He is a fortunate fellow. Jennie Tremayne is the 
sweetest woman I know.” 

u Grandma Wiggins thought her your especial 
friend.” 

44 So did Allan for quite a while. Foolish fellow ! 
Jennie and I were too old friends for that. He might 
have known better.” 

“Then old friends never do such things,” said 
Gertrude, picking her way daintily down the path. 

“ Not often. Here, let me help you. Those stones 
are uncertain.” 

And while the western yellows turned to rose, then 
purple, and at last to gray, they followed the lovely 
winding road and talked of past and present, books 
and birds, Jennie Tremayne and her work — the home- 
less ones — and found themselves at home. 

“ You ’ve been gone an unmerciful long while,’ 
complained Walter, swinging open the gate for them. 

4 4 Long while ! Do you call half an hour a long 
while, you unconscionably selfish youngster?” 

44 Half an hour ! Three times half an hour. You ’d 
better look at your watch, Mister.” 

They had many a ride together after that, and 
Walter grumbled over the length of each. He rose 
in open rebellion when his walks with Gertrude were 
likewise intruded upon, and was only pacified by the 


THE GABBET'S FINAL GIFT. 


329 


frequent loan of Rodney’s new turnout. Yet Rodney 
never knew whether he should find Gertrude full of 
the old merry friendliness or silent and strange, 
drawn back behind that invisible barrier: 

Any reference to California was sure to send her 
there. Rodney secretly wondered how much Louis 
Morrison had to do with her variable moods and was 
conscious of a growing and groundless dislike of that 
young man. He knew that his former schoolmate and 
Gertrude’s acquaintance were the same ; he' knew no 
more, for the subject was evidently not a pleasant 
one. 

All this time Gertrude heard but once from Santa 
Barbara and then not from any one of the three so 
much a part of her life there. Shortly after reaching 
home she had written to Mrs. Taggart, announcing 
her safe arrival. The letter remained unanswered. 
Gertrude waited a while and wrote again with the 
same result. Then, really anxious to know of her 
great-aunt’s welfare, she wrote to Mrs. Dawes. 

Sophy replied promptly that Mrs. Taggart was as 
well “ as ever she was,” that her new companion 
was “ as good as gold” and did everything in her 
power to make her aunt comfortable. “Of course,” 
wrote Mrs. Dawes, “your aunt frets a bit, but you 
know she always would fret, no matter what we 
could do.” 


330 


GABBET GBAIN. 


So Gertrude’s anxiety on that point was quieted. 

Mrs. Dawes did not mention the Morrisons. Her 

* 

brief letter spoke of Mrs. Taggart and Mrs. Taggart 
alone. Gertrude laid it down with a little sigh. 
She wished she knew ; yet what satisfaction would 
there be in knowing? And what did she desire to 
know? 

The answer came in most unexpected fashion. They 
were walking up from the creek one evening — Mabel, 
Allan, Madge, Walter, Rodney, and herself. She and 
Rodney were a little in advance of the others when 
Harold came running down to meet them. 

“ There ’s a gentleman at the house to see you, 
Gertrude,” he announced. “He says his name is 
Morrison.” And Gertrude, turning very white, caught 
her companion’s arm. 

Rodney stopped in alarm. “ Don’t you want to see 
him, Gertrude? You shall not! Stay here, and I’ll 
attend to him. He knows me.” 

Gertrude restrained him by a gesture. “ No, no, 
Rodney, thank you. Of course I will see him. We 
were friends in Santa Barbara.” She held his arm a 
moment, as if collecting her strength, then quitted it 
and went swiftly towards the house. 

Rodney followed her with an expression as dark as 
Walter’s own. 

“Mary says he ’s come to take Gertrude b-back to 


THE GARRET'S FINAL GIFT. 


331 


C-california,” said Harold, who still stuttered occa- 
sionally. “Do you think she’ll go?” 

“ Not if I have anything to say about it,” mut- 
tered Rodney; “I want her myself.” 

And immediately all the perplexities, confusions, 
and embarrassments concerning her resolved them- 
selves into one overpowering dread. 

Morrison met Gertrude as if they had parted on the 
friendliest terms. He rose to leave after a lengthy 
call, amused, provoked, nonplussed, but admiring her 
more than ever. He had expected to be received with 
stately resentment or trembling gladness. She showed 
no trace of either. His affection had proved stronger 
than his pride. He believed that hers would conquer 
her vexation. He was prepared to be very generous 
and magnanimous, but he felt that he must wait a 
little. So he only asked permission to call again and 
departed without reference to his real errand or 
delivering a letter he bore from Mrs. Taggart — a 
stately epistle in which she graciously forgave her 
niece and received her into favor again if she came 
as Mrs. Louis Morrison. 

Allan and Mr. Wyatt were both absent on business 
during the following week, and Rodney saw very little 
of Gertrude ; even that little was unsatisfactory. She 
avoided him and seemed depressed. Morrison came 
again and yet again, and Rodney was so cross that 


332 


GARRET GRAIN. 


Ben Makart stared at him often in surprise. Hosy at 
first thought he was working too hard and turned upon 
him with the injunction : — 

“ Look here ! You quit and go down to the house 
and get Mis’ Wyatt to make you a bowl of boneset 
tea ; take a hull quart. There ’s su’thin’ gettin’ hold 
of you — typhoid fever or measles or chickenpox. 
You don’t look right out of your eyes and you don’t 
act natcheral. Who’s that drivin’ into the yard, Ben ?” 

“It’s that California fellow,” said Makart, taking 
an observation. “ My, but is n’t he slick? ” 

“ He ’s the most arrogant, conceited, self-sufficient 
dandy that ever trod shoe leather,” snapped Rodney, 
and Hosea whistled. 

“Oho! Guess you needn’t bother Mrs. Wyatt. 
Boneset ain’t going to fit your case.” 

Rodney looked at his watch a dozen times in the 
next hour. He was fairly boiling with impatience, 
and the moment Morrison had driven away he went 
down to the house at a pace that made Hosy grin. 

The person he sought was not with the others in the 
sittingroom, nor in the parlor, nor on the veranda, 
nor under the trees outside. Rodney went up two 
flights of stairs, two steps at a time. 

She was in the garret sitting before her easel, on 
which a second picture for Walter hung unfinished. 
One hand, holding her brush, lay on the table at her 


THE GARRET'S FINAL GIFT. 


333 


side ; she rested her cheek upon the other and gazed 
absently through the window. When Rodney rose 
up through the stairway opening, like Banquo’s ghost, 
she hurriedly began to work. 

His impatience died away. Melancholy, confusion, 
a sullen anger, took its place. He walked slowly 
towards her and stood leaning against the chimney. 

“ Why did you not ask your Californian to stay to 
supper? ” 

“Why did not you come in and do it? You are 
host in uncle’s absence, and you two were old school 
friends.” 

“Never,” said Rodney, walking hastily up and 
down, “never, never friends. I wonder that you” — 

He stopped. No, he could not tell her that old 
story. Every principle of honor forbade it. And if 
Allan had not spoken why should he. If she knew, 
would it matter any? Morrison had not been the 
principal accuser. Yet if it made the world’s differ- 
ence he could not speak, not here of all places. On 
the wire before him hung an ear of golden corn. 

He returned to his place at the chimney. “Morri- 
son was a smart fellow and bore an excellent repu- 
tation in school. I suppose you saw a good deal of 
him in Santa Barbara.” 

“ His mother and Aunt Taggart were very intimate 
— very intimate indeed.” 


334 


GARRET GRAIN . 


“ And you and Mr. Morrison were very intimate — 
very intimate indeed. Of course I beg your pardon, 
Gertrude, I have no right to speak to you like that, 
but Gertrude ” — 

“We were friends,” said Gertrude, painting with- 
out any distinct idea whether the object were sky, 
house, or tree. “Very good friends, until” — 

The brush trembled so that she laid it down. 

“ Until ” — Rodney repeated eagerly. 

“Until one day I heard him tell of Bylands — Allan 
— and of you — of you — O Rodney, Rodney ! ” 

And now he caught the shining in her eyes and 
knew its meaning well. 

“ Gertrude — say, Gertrude, we’ve rung the supper 
bell three times. Are you asleep?” cried Walter, 
appearing above the opening. “And if there isn’t 
Rodney, too ! ” 

“We are coming down directly, Walter,” said 
Gertrude, springing up. “ I hope they have n’t been 
waiting.” 

“Rodney doesn’t look as if he meant to start this 
year,” complained Walter, regarding his cousin 
suspiciously. 

“Yes, he will. Come, Rodney,” and Rodney took 
the extended hand. 

“Umph! After the way he used to make fun of 


THE GAB BET'S FINAL GIFT. 


335 


your poetry.” With this Parthian shaft, Walter 
plunged down the stairway. 

Gertrude and Rodney, as if moved by a common im- 
pulse, looked back at the great south chimney. A new 
motto painted since her return hung high upon it, but 
the rhymes and illustrations, even the versified Golden 
Rule, had disappeared. One faded scrawl fluttered 
from a rafter, the last of those poetic effusions that 
Gertrude Virginia’s soul had so delighted in. Rodney 
took it carefully down ; it was almost illegible, but 
they found it to be part of the “stocking” rhyme 
written on the day of his first arrival at the House 
Blessed. 

They looked up from it to smile at each other. 
“Have you forgiven me?” he asked. 

“ Long ago, Rodney. Isn’t that part of the garret 
teaching ? — the dear, dear old garret ! ” 

The garret is empty but it is not silent. Whispers 
float about the rafters, there are rustlings in the 
corners, and the sparrows twitter under the eaves. 
The sound of happy voices come echoing from below, 
laughter and love and song, and soon the reverent 
tones of evening praise. 

Small showing, those few ears on yonder wire, of 
abundant sowing, harvest plentiful. Small vision in 
this dim old room of all its harvests in bygone and 


336 


GARRET GRAIN , . 


coming years. Yea, God is love, and he that beareth 
precious seed shall surely find his sheaves. 

Is this the shadow of a broken chair, or of a kneel- 
ing figure with clasped hands and face raised heaven- 
ward? Is it the evening breeze tossing the tree-top 
or the echo of an answered prayer? 

“On de roof dat covers it, Lord; on de seed dat 
hangs dere ; may no blight nor worm blast its harvest ; 
may de hearts be true forever, and may de children 
playing here sow only de good Lord’s garret grain 
all deir lives long.” 





























































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